In the vastness of space, the self-destruction of the warships proceeded methodically. Shockwaves from flames and nuclear explosions rippled from one vessel to the next. Before long, the greater part of the galaxy was shrouded in the self-destructive glow of mutual annihilation. This practically signified that the forces led by the Emperor and those led by the Elders had wiped each other out.
Though separated by an infinite distance, the sight of mutual destruction from top to bottom was deeply moving and evoked a sense of melancholy and awe.
Meanwhile, in the cosmos, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the galaxy was engulfed in this self-inflicted devastation.
This almost signified the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders.
Though separated by infinite distances, the sight of destruction unfolding both above and below was enough to evoke profound sighs and lamentations.
Amid the dust of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason was simple—the Supreme Statue, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, was only unveiled during the annual High Priest ceremony, when the royal family and highest-ranking nobles were permitted to pay homage.
Now, bereft of the Elder Council’s protection, its true visage was exposed.
Carved into what seemed like a mountainside, the Supreme One’s likeness was uncannily lifelike, especially his eyes—gazing forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely a stone sculpture, it radiated divine brilliance and presence, a masterpiece beyond mortal craftsmanship. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single hair stretching over a hundred meters.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. These Elders resisted using magic and instead ordered the Emperor to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands, armed with only the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—chiseled this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they are. Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and toil of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue. For the sake of a stone effigy, lives had been callously discarded. This so-called ‘one true god’ had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed to grant intelligent beings a chance for free development, but in truth, it concealed a secret—one known only to the Supreme One, serving his own interests.
For himself, he could sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though Yang Hao seethed with indignation, it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, never to return, and the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the feet of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with patterns of profound significance.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace but were hidden beside the statue, shielded from view.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by appointed caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the limit of their species—living a century or two was natural.
“A limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest Elder was over five hundred. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old man was always tight-lipped about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemnly, the cemetery silent save for a lone elderly caretaker. Clearly, Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an eerie unease about the pagodas, as if they harbored something ominous.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes bloodshot, ready for a desperate fight.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed.
Humiliated by the destruction of their sanctum, they refused to retreat. Without Su Hanjing’s urging, they charged out, determined to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke—now fought with reckless abandon, seeking mutual destruction with the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders radiated crimson light, cutting through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being decimated.
Hurd gripped his axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming; wherever he struck, nearby Elders fell.
But the Elders were outnumbered. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sect’s forces seemed endless, while the Elders dwindled with each loss. Soon, they could only defend, unable to counterattack.
Yet their defense stalled Yang Hao’s advance.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had blared for so long that the entire planet must have heard. If the old Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they’d soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Stewards arrived, retreat would be inevitable.
“Quick! We must hurry!” Yang Hao thought, raising the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The most obscure figure of recent decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice, his life’s brightest moment unfolding tonight.
When Yang Hao raised the bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, famed across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, even wounding the Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice; his withered body was useless.
As the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing Su Hanjing’s chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet, a wisp of gray-white shadow escaped his flesh, darting toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had abandoned his body to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a fleeting spirit.
Retreat! Flee!
Su Hanjing’s spirit raced to the statue’s feet, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone, even for Elders. Legend held that they housed the slumbering remains of all past High Masters since the Elder Council’s founding.
The garden had only one caretaker—an unnamed old man who swept and cleaned the pagodas daily. No one knew his origins or strength.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life was ending.
His spirit drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, gaunt and clad in plain gray robes, his eyes gleaming with a light rivaling any Steward Elder.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are ruined. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual destruction. Please… intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was faint.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards vanished after entering the imperial city—likely trapped. Three hundred Elders are suppressed by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing looked up at the old man. “Master, my spirit is dispersing… beyond saving… The only way now… is…”
With that, Su Hanjing’s last breath faded. His shadow dissipated, his sorrowful gaze lingering on the old man.
Su Hanjing had lived forty years in obscurity, but history would remember him for his sacrifice tonight.
Yet the Elder Council’s fall was unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s heart—the most capable leaders remaining.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elder Council retreated.
The old man in the pagoda watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp vanish into the wind. With a sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept the pagodas since the first Elder’s entombment, upholding the duty the Supreme One had left him. From a proud young recruit to a withered elder, his task was finally ending.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven-tiered, each level hung with seven golden bells.
Power surged into the pagoda, shaking it violently. The bells swayed, emitting a heart-rending chime—piercing, ear-splitting.
Blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his essence. When the bells’ tremors peaked, he crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, the three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered, revealing gray-robed elders seated within.
The sight stunned both Yang Hao’s forces and the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the statue’s feet, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed elders emerged, cries erupted.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“High Master!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes, stepping forth solemnly to regard Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts—Elders he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of undying Elders true?” Hurd growled, hefting his axe. “Those are the dead Elders. They perished long ago.”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward. Though chaos reigned among the Elders, the three hundred newcomers stood composed, swiftly replacing their brethren to form a defensive line.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his departure, the Elder Council would face threats, so he decreed the Elders’ immortality,” the elder said. “We, deemed worthy by the Supreme One, were granted eternal life. To prepare for this day, we sealed ourselves in the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Now, with enemies at our gates, we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just surface strength.”
“Indeed,” the elder said proudly. “Now, prepare to die!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Meanwhile, in the depths of space, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and within moments, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this suicidal blaze.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous destruction above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and awe.
Amid the dust and debris of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The Supreme Statue, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, it was a masterpiece based on his actual appearance. Only during the annual High Priest ceremony were the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form stood unveiled.
Carved from the sheer face of a mountain, the statue captured the Supreme One’s likeness with uncanny precision—especially his eyes, gazing forward with a blend of compassion and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine brilliance and presence, a testament to craftsmanship that defied nature. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with individual strands stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“It took the lives of ten thousand artisans to carve this statue,” Hurd murmured to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders resisted using spells, instead ordering Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands labored with primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was icy. “See the compassion in his eyes? Yet those compassionate eyes were bought with the blood and lives of our Ursa people’s ten greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his thoughts darkening. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been callously discarded. This so-called “one true god” had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Clans, and reshaped the cosmic order—seemingly granting sentient beings the freedom to thrive. Yet behind it all, there had to be a secret.
A secret known only to the Supreme One. A secret that served his own interests.
Sacrificing all for himself—that was the Supreme One’s guiding principle.
Though rage simmered in Yang Hao’s heart, this era was coming to an end. The Supreme One had vanished years ago, and now the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the base of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged—each over three meters tall, built of gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings, each seemingly imbued with profound meaning.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace. Hidden behind the grand halls, they had remained unseen by outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by appointed caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a century or two was commonplace.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of ‘Elders never dying’ was just propaganda.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was notoriously secretive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, instead studying the Spirit Bone Pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, the entire mausoleum guarded only by a lone elderly sweeper. Clearly, the Elders seldom visited.
Yet something about the pagodas unsettled Yang Hao. They seemed ominous, as if harboring unforeseen dangers.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes blazing with murderous intent.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s edifices, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood ritual, remained unharmed.
Humiliated by the destruction of their sanctum, they were no longer willing to hide. Without Su Hanjing’s urging, they charged forth, ready to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to annihilate the Alchemy Sect even at the cost of their own lives.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defensive line was torn apart.
Empowered by the blood ritual, the Elders radiated crimson light, cutting through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the three hundred Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being decimated.
Hurd gripped his great axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with a thunderous battle cry.
The Elders faltered. The sheer might of a peak Saint Realm warrior like Hurd was overwhelming—wherever he struck, nearby Elders fell in droves.
But the Elders’ greatest weakness was their numbers. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sect had endless reinforcements, while the Elders were limited to three hundred. Each loss weakened their suppression of the enemy. Soon, they could only defend, no longer able to counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been blaring for some time. The commotion was so immense that not just the imperial city, but every corner of the planet would have heard it.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Executors, those formidable figures would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Executors joined the fray, retreat would be inevitable.
“Quickly! We must move quickly!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of the past decades, he had burned his life away in the blood ritual. His brightest, most glorious moment was tonight.
When Yang Hao lifted the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, a weapon renowned across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, one that had even wounded the Executor Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the ritual, his body withered and useless.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in the Flaming Bow’s divine flames.
Yet at the same moment, a wisp of gray-white energy escaped his body, streaking toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his last breath into a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Flee at once!
His will darted to the base of the Supreme Statue, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders were barred from entering. Legends spoke of the Elder Council’s founding masters slumbering within.
Only one old man tended the garden, sweeping and washing the pagodas daily. Nameless and unknown, his strength remained a mystery.
Except to Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s direct disciple. The blood ritual had been taught to him by this very master.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life was at its end.
His wisp of will drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face framed by a plain gray robe, far from the Elders’ splendor. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Executor Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was barely a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Executors vanished after entering the imperial city—likely trapped. Three hundred Elders are besieged by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that technique now, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze to the old man. “Master… my spirit is dispersing… beyond saving… the only way now… is…”
With those final words, his last breath of energy dissipated. His gray shadow faded, leaving only sorrow in the old man’s eyes.
Su Hanjing had lived in obscurity for forty years, but history would remember his name for his final stand tonight.
Yet the Elder Council’s downfall was now unstoppable.
After slaying Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the nine most capable of rallying their forces.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ greatest nemesis. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm warriors pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s relentless barrage from afar, the Elder Council began to retreat.
Inside the Spirit Bone Pagodas, the old man watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of will vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he cast aside his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder was interred here, his duty ordained by the Supreme One himself. From a proud young man entering the Elder Council to this withered elder, his task was finally ending.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven tiers tall, each adorned with seven golden bells.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, causing it to tremble violently. The bells swayed, emitting a sound so piercing it could make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells’ vibrations peaked, he had crumbled to dust.
Yet simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
Within them sat gray-robed elders, their eyes snapping open.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the Supreme Statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures emerged, cries erupted:
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Master!”
The gray-robed elders stepped forth, their gazes solemn as they regarded Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts—Elders he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, hefting his axe. “Those are Elders who died long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the ranks. Though chaos reigned among the Elders, the three hundred newcomers moved with eerie calm, swiftly forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his departure, someone would strike at the Elder Council,” the elder intoned. “Thus, he decreed that the Elders would never perish. We, deemed worthy by the Supreme One, were granted eternal life. To prepare for this day, we sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Now that enemies have come, we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just the surface strength we saw.”
“Indeed,” the gray-robed elder said proudly. “And now, you shall perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Now, without the protection of the Elder Council, it had finally emerged into the open.
Meanwhile, in the depths of space, the self-destruction of the fleet continued methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this self-inflicted devastation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous destruction above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and lament.
Amid the dust and debris of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The Supreme Statue, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, was a sacred relic reserved for the royal family and the highest nobility to worship during the annual High Priest ceremony.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was unveiled.
Carved into what seemed like the face of a mountain, the statue depicted the Supreme One with lifelike precision—especially his eyes, gazing forward with benevolence and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine light and presence, a masterpiece beyond human craftsmanship. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single hair stretching over a hundred meters.
“It took the lives of ten thousand artisans to carve this statue,” Hurd murmured to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders forbade magic, forcing the Emperor to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze turned cold. “See the compassion in his eyes? That compassion was bought with the lives and souls of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his heart heavy. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called “one true god” had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order—seemingly granting freedom to the universe’s intelligent beings. Yet behind it all, there had to be a secret.
A secret known only to the Supreme One. A secret that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, this was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had vanished years ago, and now his symbol of authority—the Elder Council—had crumbled.
At the base of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with patterns of profound meaning. These spires had been hidden behind the Elder Council’s palaces, invisible to outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within, their bodies guarded by caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the limit of their species—living a century or two was natural.
“A limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was always evasive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, instead studying the pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, the cemetery guarded only by a lone elderly caretaker. Clearly, the Elders rarely visited.
Yet something about the pagodas unsettled Yang Hao—an inexplicable sense of foreboding.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with vengeance.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Council’s buildings, the Elders inside had emerged unscathed.
Empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice and enraged by the Council’s destruction, they charged without hesitation, ready to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to drag the Alchemy Sect down with them.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Bathed in crimson light from the blood sacrifice, the Elders carved through the battlefield like a meat grinder, slaughtering all in their path.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the Elders proved futile—they were cut down before they could close in.
Hurd gripped his axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with a thunderous roar.
The Elders faltered. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming; wherever he struck, Elders fell.
But the Elders were few. The Alchemy Sect’s numbers were endless—one fallen warrior replaced by another—while the Elders dwindled with each loss. Their suppression weakened, leaving them barely able to defend themselves.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Council’s alarms had blared for too long—this commotion would have reached every corner of the planet, let alone the imperial city.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Stewards arrived, retreat would be the only option.
“Faster! We must move faster!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he gripped the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The once-obscure figure had burned his life away in the blood sacrifice, his brightest moment unfolding tonight.
When Yang Hao raised the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what that bow was—the golden-red weapon wreathed in flames, famed across the empire.
The Flaming Bow. The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god. Even Steward Elders had fallen to it.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice; his withered body had no further use.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet as he burned, a wisp of gray-white energy escaped his flesh, darting toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had abandoned his body to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a fleeting spirit.
Retreat! Flee!
His spirit raced to the statue’s base, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders were barred from entering. Legends spoke of the ancient masters slumbering within.
Only one elderly caretaker tended the garden, sweeping and washing the pagodas daily. Nameless and unknown, his strength remained a mystery.
Except to Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His spirit drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a mere wisp, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face weathered, his gray robe plain compared to the Elders’ finery. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight ends in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was faint.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards vanished after entering the imperial city—likely trapped. Three hundred Elders are overwhelmed by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze. “Master… my spirit scatters… beyond saving… Now, the only way is…”
With those final words, his last breath dissipated, his gray shadow dissolving into the wind.
Su Hanjing, unknown for forty years, would be remembered for his sacrifice tonight.
But the Elder Council’s fall was inevitable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each striking down an Elder who could have rallied their forces.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm warriors pressing forward and Yang Hao’s relentless barrage, the Council was forced into retreat.
The old caretaker watched Su Hanjing’s spirit vanish into the wind, then sighed and dropped his broom.
He had swept the pagodas since the first Elder was entombed, his duty ordained by the Supreme One. From a proud young recruit to a withered elder, his task was finally ending.
His hand rested on a unique pagoda—golden, seven-tiered, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
Power surged into the pagoda, shaking it violently. The bells trembled, their piercing chimes enough to draw blood from ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells reached their crescendo, he had crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, the three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered, revealing gray-robed figures seated within.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures emerged, cries erupted:
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes, stepping forth with solemn dignity, their gazes fixed on Yang Hao.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts—Elders he had never heard of.
“Is the legend true? Do Elders never die?” Hurd gripped his axe, bellowing, “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward. Though chaos reigned among their ranks, the three hundred newcomers stood firm, swiftly replacing their brethren and forming a defensive line.
“The Supreme One foresaw this day,” the elder declared. “He decreed that Elders would never perish. We, blessed with eternal life, sealed ourselves in the pagodas, awaiting the hour of need.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s legacy runs deeper than I imagined.”
“Indeed,” the elder said proudly. “And now, you will die!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of over ten thousand artisans,” Hede whispered to Yang Hao.
“Why didn’t they use magic?”
In the vast expanse of the cosmos, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in the blinding light of self-annihilation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and awe.
Amid the dust and debris of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The statue of the Supreme One, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
This was the most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, based on his actual appearance. Only during the annual High Priest ceremony were the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, the statue stood exposed in all its glory.
Carved from what seemed like the face of a mountain, the Supreme One’s likeness was uncannily lifelike, especially his eyes—gazing forward with a blend of compassion and serenity. Though merely a stone sculpture, it radiated divine brilliance and presence, a masterpiece beyond human craftsmanship. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with individual strands stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders resisted using magic and instead ordered Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the galaxies. Tens of thousands of them, armed with only the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—chiseled this statue from the mountainside by sheer force.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they seem. Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and toil of our people’s greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his thoughts churning. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called “one true god” had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Clans, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed he had granted the universe’s intelligent beings a chance for free development. But in truth, there had to be a hidden motive—a secret known only to him, one that served his own interests.
For his own sake, he would sacrifice anyone. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, this was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had vanished years ago, never to return, and now the Elder Council—the symbol of his authority—had crumbled.
At the base of the Supreme One’s statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, built from gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings. Each spire seemed to hold profound meaning.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace complex. Instead, they had been hidden beside the statue, shielded by the council’s grand halls, invisible to outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within these pagodas, their remains guarded by appointed caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended a person’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a hundred or two hundred years was common.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just propaganda.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd immediately pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old man was notoriously secretive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. Instead, he studied the Spirit Bone Pagodas more closely. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent. The entire cemetery was tended by a single elderly janitor, suggesting that even the Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an inexplicable unease about these pagodas, as if they harbored something ominous.
But there was no time to dwell on it. With the Elder Council’s collapse, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with rage, ready to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the council’s structures, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed.
Fueled by the humiliation of their council’s destruction, the Elders needed no urging from Su Hanjing. They charged out on their own, determined to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the bitter end.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Dan Ding Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Longyou Legion’s defenses were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders glowed crimson, their killing intent overwhelming. They cut through the Dan Ding Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder, leaving devastation in their wake.
Though the Dan Ding Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the three hundred Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being decimated.
Hurd gripped his great axe and joined the fray, rallying the Longyou Legion with a thunderous battle cry.
The Elders, though formidable, found themselves strained. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming; wherever he appeared, nearby Elders faced mortal peril.
But the Elders’ weakness was their numbers. The Longyou Legion and Dan Ding Sword Sect had endless reinforcements, while the Elders were limited to three hundred. Each one Hurd felled weakened their suppression of the enemy. Soon, they could only defend, unable to counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been blaring for some time. The commotion was so great that even the farthest corners of the planet would have heard it.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Executors, those formidable figures would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Executors joined the fray, retreat would be the only option.
“Quick! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he gripped the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. Tonight marked the zenith of his life—its brightest, most glorious moment.
When Yang Hao raised the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew exactly what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, a weapon renowned across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god. Even the Executor Elders had fallen to its power.
Su Hanjing didn’t even attempt to resist. His blood had already been drained by the sacrifice, his body withered and useless.
When the arrow of wrath streaked through the air like a fiery dragon, piercing Su Hanjing’s chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body erupted into flames, consumed by the bow’s divine power.
Yet at the same time, a wisp of gray-white energy—his last vestige of vitality—separated from his body and shot toward the Supreme One’s statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his final breath into a fleeting spiritual remnant.
Retreat! Flee!
Su Hanjing’s remnant spirit darted to the base of the statue, into the garden of the Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone, off-limits even to the Elders. Legends spoke of the ancient masters of the Elder Council slumbering within.
The garden’s sole caretaker was an elderly janitor who swept and cleaned the pagodas daily. No one knew his name or his origins, nor had anyone witnessed his true power.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s direct disciple. The blood sacrifice technique had been passed down from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His remnant spirit drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a faint shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his face gaunt, his gray robe plain compared to the Elders’ finery. Yet the glint in his eyes rivaled even the Executors’.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of foundation lie in ruins. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual destruction. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was barely a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Executors vanished after entering the imperial city—likely trapped. Three hundred Elders are locked in battle, suppressed by the Dan Ding Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his gaze, staring at the old man. “Master, my spirit is fading… beyond saving… The only way now is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath dissipated. His gray shadow faded into the wind, his sorrowful eyes fixed on his master until the very end.
Su Hanjing had lived in obscurity for forty years, but history would remember his name for his sacrifice tonight.
Yet the fall of the Elder Council was now inevitable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the nine most capable of rallying the council’s forces.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ greatest nemesis. Under normal circumstances, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly. But with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s relentless arrows from the rear, the Elders were forced into retreat.
Inside the Spirit Bone Pagoda, the old janitor watched Su Hanjing’s last remnant vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept this place since the first Elder entered the pagodas, his duty passed down from the Supreme One himself. Once a brilliant young talent entering the Elder Council, he had aged into obscurity. Now, his task was finally ending.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, with seven golden bells hanging from each level.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, causing it to tremble violently. The bells swayed, emitting a heart-wrenching chime—a sound so piercing it could make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells reached their crescendo, he had crumbled into dust.
Simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered. Within them sat gray-robed elders, their eyes snapping open as they stepped forth with solemn dignity.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders, who cried out in recognition.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Sage!”
The gray-robed elders emerged, their gazes calm yet imposing as they surveyed Yang Hao’s army.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts—Elders of a kind he had never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, hefting his axe. “Those are the dead Elders of the past! They were supposed to have perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the ranks. Though chaos reigned among the living Elders, the three hundred resurrected elders moved with eerie calm, swiftly forming a new defensive line against the Dan Ding Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power,” the gray-robed elder intoned. “He foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council. Thus, he decreed that the Elders would never truly die. We, deemed worthy by the Supreme One, were granted eternal life. To safeguard against this day, we sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Now that enemies have come, we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just the power we saw.”
“Correct,” the elder said coldly. “And now, you will perish.”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
In the vast expanse of the universe, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the galaxy was engulfed in this self-inflicted light.
This spectacle almost signified the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous destruction above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and reflection.
Amid the dust of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason was the unveiling of the Supreme Statue, which had remained hidden for centuries, now standing in full view before the people.
The most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, it was only during the annual High Priest ceremony that the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles were permitted to pay homage.
Now, bereft of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was finally revealed.
Carved into what seemed like the face of a mountain, the Supreme One’s visage was lifelike, especially his eyes—gazing forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely a stone sculpture, it radiated divine brilliance and presence, a masterpiece beyond human craftsmanship. The Supreme One’s hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single strand stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“In the past, the carving of this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. These Elders refrained from using magic and instead ordered the Emperor to summon artisans from across the galaxies. Tens of thousands of them, armed with only the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—chiseled this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they are. Yet those compassionate eyes were carved at the cost of the lives and souls of our greatest Ursa artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, realizing that for the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called sole deity of the world had never acted for the sake of others.
The Supreme One unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed to grant the universe’s intelligent beings a chance for free development, but in truth, it concealed a secret known only to the Supreme One—a secret that undoubtedly served his own interests.
For himself, he could sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme One’s guiding principle.
Though Yang Hao seethed with indignation, all of this was coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed and never returned, and the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the feet of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, constructed of gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings, each spire seemingly imbued with profound meaning.
These spires had not been part of the Elder Council’s palace but had been hidden independently beside the statue, shielded by the council’s structures, making them nearly invisible to outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within these pagodas, their bodies guarded by designated keepers.”
“These old men can die too?” Yang Hao scoffed. Generally, upon reaching the Saint Realm, a person’s lifespan extended to the limit of their species—living a hundred or two hundred years was natural.
“But a limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was merely a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd immediately pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old man was always evasive about his true strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the Spirit Bone Pagodas. Amid the dust, the pagodas stood solemnly, the entire cemetery guarded by only a single elderly caretaker. Clearly, the Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an odd unease about these pagodas, as if they harbored something unexpected.
But there was no time to dwell on it. With the collapse of the Elder Council’s structures, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with rage, ready to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Radiance Barrier and toppled the council’s buildings, the Elders inside, fully empowered, remained unharmed.
Empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, the Elders were brimming with strength. Humiliated by the destruction of their council, they refused to retreat. Without Su Hanjing’s command, they charged out, determined to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the last.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the defenses of the Dragon Guard Legion were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders glowed red with killing intent, slashing left and right like a meat grinder, intent on annihilating the Alchemy Sect.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered the Elders, surrounding them in the center, they couldn’t close the distance before being cut down in droves.
Hurd gripped his great axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard Legion, whose battle cries shook the heavens.
The Elders began to falter. The sheer might of a Saint Realm peak warrior like Hurd was overwhelming—wherever he appeared, he dealt fatal blows to nearby Elders.
The Elders’ weakness was their numbers. The Dragon Guard Legion and the Alchemy Sword Sect had endless reinforcements, while the Elders numbered only three hundred. Each one Hurd felled weakened their suppression of the enemy. Gradually, they could only defend, no longer able to counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been sounding for a long time. Such a commotion would be heard not just in the imperial city but in every corner of the planet.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Executors, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Executors joined the fray, retreat would be the only option.
“Quick! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. His life’s most glorious moment was tonight.
When Yang Hao raised the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. Su Hanjing knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, renowned across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true deity, one that had even wounded the Executor Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t even attempt to resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body withered and useless.
When the arrow of wrath streaked through the air like a fiery dragon and pierced his chest, Su Hanjing didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in the divine flames of the Flaming Bow.
Yet at the same moment, a pale, fragmented shadow emerged from his body and darted toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his last breath into a wisp of spiritual will.
Retreat! Retreat now!
Su Hanjing’s spiritual will fled to the feet of the Supreme Statue, into the garden of the Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone, inaccessible even to the Elders. Legend held that they housed the slumbering remains of every Elder since the council’s founding.
The garden was tended by a lone, nameless old man who swept and cleansed the pagodas daily. No one knew his origins or his strength—except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s direct disciple. The blood sacrifice technique had been taught to him by this very master.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His spiritual will drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a faint shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all my strength, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his face gaunt, clad in a plain gray robe, far from the Elders’ splendor. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled that of any Executor Elder.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was barely a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Executors have vanished into the imperial city, likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are besieged by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing looked up at the old man. “Master, my spirit is dispersing… beyond saving… the only way now… is…”
With these words, Su Hanjing’s last breath faded. His sorrowful gaze lingered on the old man as his gray shadow dissipated into the wind.
Su Hanjing had lived in obscurity for forty years, but history would remember his name for his sacrifice tonight.
Yet the fall of the Elder Council was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao fired nine more arrows, each piercing the chest of an Elder—the most capable leaders remaining after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ greatest nemesis. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm warriors pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elder Council was forced to retreat.
The old man in the Spirit Bone Pagoda watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of spiritual will vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept the pagodas since the first Elder was entombed, his duty passed down from the Supreme One. Once a brilliant young man entering the Elder Council, he was now aged beyond recognition, and his task was finally ending.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, with seven golden bells hanging from each level.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, causing it to tremble violently. The bells swayed, emitting a heart-wrenching chime—a sound so piercing it could make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells reached their peak resonance, he had crumbled into a pile of bones.
Simultaneously, the three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered, revealing gray-robed elders seated within.
This sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the Supreme Statue’s feet, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. The emergence of the gray-robed elders drew collective cries of recognition.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes and stepped forth solemnly, their gazes calm as they surveyed Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts, yet he had never heard of them.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, hefting his axe. “Those are the Elders who died long ago. They’ve been dead for centuries!”
A gray-robed elder stepped forward from the crowd. Though chaos reigned among the Elders, the three hundred newly emerged elders remained composed, swiftly replacing their brethren and forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sword Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council, so he decreed that Elders never die,” the gray-robed elder said. “We, deemed worthy by the Supreme One, were granted eternal life. To prepare for this day, we willingly sealed ourselves in the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. When enemies came, we awoke.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just the power we saw.”
“Correct,” the gray elder said proudly. “And now, you will die!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Meanwhile, in the depths of space, the self-destruction of the fleet continued methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this self-inflicted devastation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous destruction above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and lament.
Amid the dust and debris of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The long-concealed statue of the Supreme One, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the Supreme One’s likeness before his ascension, was a sight reserved only for the imperial family and the highest nobility during the annual High Priest ceremonies.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was unveiled.
Carved into the face of a mountain, the statue was a masterpiece of lifelike artistry. The Supreme One’s expression was serene, his eyes gazing forward with compassion and tranquility. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine brilliance—a testament to craftsmanship beyond mortal skill. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with individual strands stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“It took the lives of ten thousand artisans to carve this statue,” Hurd murmured to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders forbade the use of magic, forcing Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they seem. Yet that compassion was bought with the lives of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called “one true god” had never acted for the sake of others.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order—seemingly granting sentient beings the freedom to flourish. Yet behind it all, there had to be a secret.
A secret known only to the Supreme One. A secret that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage burned in Yang Hao’s heart, it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, never to return, and the Elder Council—his symbol of authority—had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with patterns that seemed to hold profound meaning.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace. Hidden behind the grand halls, they had remained unseen by outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by appointed keepers.”
“These old men can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a century or two was commonplace.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of ‘Elders never dying’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd immediately fell silent, refusing to speak further. The old warrior was always tight-lipped about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. Instead, he studied the Spirit Bone Pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, with only a lone elderly caretaker sweeping the grounds. Clearly, the Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an eerie premonition about these pagodas—as if they harbored something unexpected.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes blazing with the intent to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed.
Humiliated by the destruction of their sanctum, they refused to retreat. Without Su Hanjing’s command, they charged forward, ready to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the bitter end.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to drag the Alchemy Sect down with them.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defensive line was torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders radiated crimson light, cutting through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being decimated.
Hurd, gripping his great axe, joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with thunderous battle cries.
The Elders faltered. The sheer might of a Saint Realm peak warrior like Hurd was overwhelming—wherever he struck, Elders fell.
But the Elders were outnumbered. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sect’s forces were endless, while the Elders numbered only three hundred. Each loss weakened their suppression of the enemy. Soon, they could only defend, no longer able to counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been blaring for some time. The commotion would have reached every corner of the planet, let alone the imperial city.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Stewards, they would have returned by now.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards returned, retreat would be the only option.
“Quick! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. His brightest, most glorious moment was tonight.
As Yang Hao drew the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, a weapon famed across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, even wounding the Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body a withered husk.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet at the same moment, a wisp of gray-white energy—his last vestige of spirit—detached from his body and shot toward the Supreme One’s statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his final breath into a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Flee!
Su Hanjing’s spirit darted to the base of the statue, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders were barred from entering. Legend held that the remains of every Elder since the Council’s founding rested there.
Only one elderly caretaker swept the grounds, tending to the pagodas daily. Nameless and faceless, his strength remained unknown to all—except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his direct disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His spirit drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. I’ve fought with all I have, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face weathered, his plain gray robe a stark contrast to the Elders’ finery. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was barely a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards vanished after entering the imperial city—likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are suppressed by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that technique now, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his gaze, staring at the old man. “Master, my spirit is scattered… beyond saving… the only way now… is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath dissipated. His gray shadow faded, his sorrowful eyes fixed on the old man until nothing remained.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for his stand tonight.
But the Elder Council’s downfall was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Under normal circumstances, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly. But with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elders were forced into retreat.
The old man in the Spirit Bone Pagodas watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of spirit vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he cast aside his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder was interred here, his duty ordained by the Supreme One. From a proud young recruit to this withered elder, his task was finally ending.
His hand rested on a unique pagoda—golden, seven-tiered, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
Channeling his power into it, the pagoda trembled. The bells swayed, their mournful chimes piercing enough to draw blood from the ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells’ vibrations peaked, he had crumbled to dust.
Yet simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
Within them sat figures clad in gray robes—Elders of ages past.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred surviving Elders had retreated to the statue’s base. Witnessing the pagodas’ transformation and the emergence of these ancient figures, they cried out in recognition.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed figures opened their eyes, stepping forth with solemn dignity, their gazes resting on Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These were all Saint Realm experts—Elders whose existence he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, hefting his axe. “Those are the Elders who died long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the ranks. Though chaos reigned among the living Elders, the three hundred resurrected ones moved with calm precision, forming a new defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme One foresaw that after his ascension, the Elder Council would face threats,” the gray elder declared. “Thus, he decreed that Elders never truly die. We, blessed with eternal life, sealed ourselves within the pagodas in suspended animation. Now that enemies have come, we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just what we saw.”
“Indeed,” the gray elder said proudly. “And now, you shall perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Meanwhile, in the cosmos, the self-destruction of the warships proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one vessel to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this self-inflicted devastation.
This almost signified the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders.
Though separated by infinite distances, the sight of destruction unfolding both above and below was enough to evoke profound sighs and lamentations.
Amid the dust and debris of the collapsing Elder Council, people gasped in astonishment several times. The reason was simple: the Supreme Statue, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, was only accessible to the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles during the annual High Priest ceremony.
Now, bereft of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was unveiled.
Carved into what seemed like a mountainside, the Supreme One’s visage was exquisitely lifelike, especially his eyes, which gazed forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely a stone sculpture, it radiated divine brilliance and presence—a masterpiece beyond human craftsmanship. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single strand stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. These Elders refrained from using magic and instead ordered Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands of them, armed with only the most primitive tools—not even basic laser chisels—painstakingly carved the Supreme One’s likeness from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze turned cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they are. Yet that compassion was bought with the blood and lives of our Ursa people’s ten greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his thoughts churning. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called one true god of the world had never acted for anyone else’s sake.
The Supreme One had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Race, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed to grant intelligent lifeforms the freedom to evolve, but in truth, it concealed a secret—one known only to the Supreme One himself, a secret that undoubtedly served his own interests.
For his own sake, he could sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme One’s unshakable principle.
Though seething with indignation, Yang Hao knew it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had ascended years ago and never returned, and now the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the base of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, constructed of gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings. Each spire seemed to hold profound meaning.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace complex but had been hidden independently beside the statue, shielded by the Council’s structures, making them nearly invisible to outsiders.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within these pagodas, their remains guarded by special caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die too?” Yang Hao scoffed. Generally, once one reached the Saint Realm, their lifespan extended to the natural limit of their species—living a hundred or two hundred years was commonplace.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest Elder is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd immediately pressed his lips together and fell silent. This old fox was always tight-lipped about his true strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. He studied the Spirit Bone Pagodas more closely. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, with only a lone elderly caretaker sweeping the grounds. Clearly, Elders rarely visited this place.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an odd premonition about these pagodas, as if they harbored something unexpected.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes bloodshot, ready to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defense and toppled the Council’s buildings, it hadn’t harmed the Elders, who had been channeling their full power within.
Empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, the Elders were brimming with strength. Humiliated by the destruction of their Council, they refused to retreat. Without Su Hanjing’s command, they charged out on their own, determined to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the bitter end.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defensive line was torn apart.
Bathed in the red glow of the blood sacrifice, the Elders slashed left and right like a meat grinder, intent on annihilating the Alchemy Sect’s forces.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered the Elders, surrounding them in the center, they couldn’t close the distance before being cut down in droves.
Hurd gripped his great axe and joined the fray, bolstering the Dragon Guard’s morale with thunderous battle cries.
The Elders began to falter. The sheer might of a Saint Realm peak warrior was overwhelming—wherever Hurd appeared, he dealt fatal blows to nearby Elders.
Numbers were the Elders’ weakness. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sword Sect had endless reinforcements, while the Elders numbered only three hundred. Each one Hurd felled weakened their suppression of the enemy. The tide turned, leaving them barely able to defend themselves, let alone counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been blaring for some time. Such a commotion would be heard not just in the imperial city but in every corner of the planet.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Stewards, they would have returned by now.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards joined the fray, retreat would be the only option.
“Hurry! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he gripped the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of the past few decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. His brightest, most glorious moment was tonight.
When Yang Hao raised the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. Su Hanjing knew exactly what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, renowned throughout the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, one that had even wounded Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t even attempt to resist. His blood had already been drained by the sacrifice, leaving his withered body useless.
When the arrow of wrath streaked through the air like a fiery dragon and pierced his chest, Su Hanjing didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in the divine flames of the Flaming Bow.
Yet at the same time, a pale, fragmented shadow emerged from Su Hanjing’s body and darted toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had abandoned his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his last breath into a wisp of spiritual will.
Retreat! Retreat now!
Su Hanjing’s spiritual will fled to the base of the Supreme Statue, into the garden of hundreds of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The Spirit Bone Pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders couldn’t enter freely. Legend held that all the Elder Council’s past masters slept there.
Only one elderly caretaker swept the grounds daily, tending to the pagodas. Nameless and faceless, no one knew who he was or what power he wielded.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s direct disciple. The blood sacrifice technique had been taught to him by this very master.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His spiritual will drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a faint remnant, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Today, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his face gaunt, clad in a plain gray robe—far from the Elders’ splendor. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of foundation lie in ruins. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual destruction. Please, intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was barely a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards vanished after entering the imperial city—likely trapped. Three hundred Elders are locked in battle, suppressed by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that technique now, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing looked up at his master. “Master, my spirit is dispersing… beyond saving… the only way now… is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath faded. His sorrowful gaze lingered on the old man as his gray shadow dissipated.
For forty years, Su Hanjing had been unknown. But history would remember his name for his valiant stand tonight.
Yet the Elder Council’s downfall was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao fired nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the nine most capable of rallying the Elders’ forces.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ greatest nemesis. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao, but with Hurd leading a Saint Realm vanguard and Yang Hao attacking from afar, the Elder Council was forced into retreat.
Inside the Spirit Bone Pagodas, the old caretaker watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of spiritual will vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder entered the pagodas, his duty passed down from the Supreme One himself. From a proud young recruit to a withered old man, his task was finally ending.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, with seven golden bells hanging from each level.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, causing it to tremble violently. The bells swayed, emitting a heart-wrenching chime—a piercing, earsplitting sound that could make one’s ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells’ vibrations peaked, he had crumbled into dust.
Simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered, revealing gray-robed elders seated within.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
By then, the three hundred Elders had retreated to the Supreme Statue’s base. Witnessing the pagodas’ transformation and the emergence of the gray-robed elders, they cried out in unison:
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Master!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes and stepped forth solemnly, their gazes fixed on Yang Hao’s group.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. He could tell—these elders were all Saint Realm experts, each an Elder, yet ones he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd planted his axe and roared, “Those are the Elders who died long ago! They’ve been dead for—”
A gray-robed elder stepped from the Elder ranks. Though chaos reigned among them, the three hundred newly emerged elders remained composed, swiftly replacing their comrades and forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sword Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his ascension, someone would target the Elder Council, so he decreed that Elders never truly perish,” the gray-robed elder said. “We, unworthy as we are, were granted eternal life by the Supreme One. To guard against this day, we willingly sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Should enemies attack, we would awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation aren’t just what we see before us.”
“Correct,” the gray elder said proudly. “And so, you shall die!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Meanwhile, in the depths of space, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions cascaded from one ship to another, and within moments, nearly half the star system was engulfed in the blinding light of self-annihilation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was enough to evoke profound sorrow and lament.
Amid the settling dust of the fallen Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The revered statue of the Supreme One, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
This was the most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the Supreme One’s likeness before his ascension, based on his actual appearance. Only during the annual High Priest ceremony were the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form stood unveiled.
Carved into what seemed like a sheer mountain face, the statue captured the Supreme One’s likeness with uncanny precision—especially his eyes, gazing forward with benevolence and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine light and presence, a masterpiece beyond mortal craftsmanship. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single strand stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd murmured to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the cosmos for the Supreme One. The Elders forbade magic, forcing Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the galaxy. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters were allowed—to chisel this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze turned cold. “See the compassion in his eyes? That compassion was bought with the lives of our greatest Bearkin artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his heart heavy. For a mere stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called “one true god” had never acted for others.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped cosmic order—seemingly granting wisdom-kind a chance for freedom. Yet behind it all lay a secret known only to him, one that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, this era was ending. The Supreme One had vanished years ago, and now his symbol of authority—the Elder Council—had crumbled.
At the statue’s feet, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with cryptic patterns. These spires had been hidden behind the Elder Council’s palaces, invisible to outsiders.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within, their bodies guarded by chosen keepers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their kind—living a century or two was common.
“A limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of ‘Elders never die’ was just propaganda.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips shut, refusing to answer. The old warrior was always secretive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, instead studying the pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, the cemetery guarded only by a lone elderly sweeper. Clearly, Elders rarely visited.
Yet something about the pagodas unsettled Yang Hao—an inexplicable sense of foreboding.
But there was no time to dwell. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes blazing with vengeance.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed. Humiliated by their sanctuary’s ruin, they charged without hesitation, ready to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force none dared provoke—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to drag the Alchemy Sect down with them.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders moved like whirlwinds of slaughter, cutting through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks with terrifying efficiency. Though outnumbered, the Elders’ sheer might kept their foes at bay, leaving corpses in their wake.
Hurd gripped his axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming; wherever he struck, Elders fell. But their numbers were finite—three hundred against an endless tide. Each loss weakened their suppression, forcing them into a desperate defense.
Yet even in retreat, they stalled Yang Hao’s advance.
Yang Hao sighed. The Council’s alarms had blared for too long. By now, the entire planet would know of this battle.
If the Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. Adding the Stewards would spell defeat.
“Quickly! We must finish this!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he drew the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The once-obscure figure had burned his life in blood sacrifice, his brightest moment unfolding tonight.
As Yang Hao raised the bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze. He knew what the golden-red weapon wreathed in flames represented—the Flaming Bow, foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god. Even Steward Elders had fallen to it.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had long been spent in the sacrifice; his withered body was spent.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet as he burned, a wisp of gray-white energy—his last vestige of spirit—fled toward the Supreme One’s statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s strike, preserving his final breath as a spiritual wisp.
Retreat! Flee!
His spirit darted to the statue’s feet, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were forbidden ground—even for Elders. Legends spoke of ancient masters slumbering within.
Only one man tended the garden—an unnamed, ageless sweeper whose strength none had witnessed.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, at life’s end, Su Hanjing’s spirit drifted to the old man’s feet.
“Master.”
“So it has come to this?” The old man’s voice was mournful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no sorrow. “Your unworthy disciple can serve you no longer. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, gaunt and clad in plain gray robes, yet his eyes gleamed with power rivaling any Steward Elder.
“Master, the Council’s centuries of legacy are ruined. Tonight ends in mutual destruction. I beg you—intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards are trapped in the imperial city, likely ambushed. Three hundred Elders are overwhelmed. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow picks us off one by one. If we don’t act now, all is lost.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze. “Master… my spirit scatters… beyond saving… the only way now is…”
With those final words, his last breath dissipated, his gray shadow vanishing into the wind.
Su Hanjing, unknown for forty years, would be remembered for this night.
But the Elder Council’s fall was inevitable.
After slaying Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s heart—key figures who could rally their brethren.
The Flaming Bow was their bane. Normally, the Elders might close in to fight, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm vanguard and Yang Hao’s ranged onslaught, the Council retreated step by step.
In the pagoda garden, the old sweeper watched Su Hanjing’s spirit fade, then sighed and cast aside his broom.
He had swept here since the first Elder entered the pagodas, bearing the duty the Supreme One entrusted. From a proud youth to a withered elder, his task now ended.
His hand rested on a unique pagoda—golden, seven-tiered, each level hung with seven golden bells.
Channeling his energy into it, the pagoda trembled violently. The bells swayed, their piercing chimes sharp enough to draw blood from ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life. When the bells’ peal reached its zenith, he crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, the three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
Within them sat gray-robed elders.
The sight stunned both Yang Hao’s forces and the retreating Elders.
The three hundred Elders had fallen back to the statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures emerged, cries erupted:
“Master!”
“Grandmaster!”
“Honored One!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes, stepping forth with solemn dignity to survey Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. Each gray-robed figure radiated Saint Realm power—Elders of a caliber he’d never heard of.
“The legend of undying Elders… could it be true?” Hurd hefted his axe, bellowing, “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray elder stepped forward from the ranks. Though chaos reigned among the living Elders, the three hundred newcomers formed a disciplined line, shielding their brethren.
“The Supreme One foresaw this day,” the gray elder intoned. “Before his ascension, he decreed the Elder Council’s immortality. We, honored by his grace, sealed ourselves in the Spirit Bone Pagodas, awaiting the hour of need.”
Yang Hao exhaled. “The Council’s centuries of power… it was never just what we saw.”
“Indeed,” the gray elder said proudly. “Now, perish!”
With that, the Elders counterattacked.
In the vast expanse of the cosmos, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and within moments, nearly half the star system was engulfed in the blinding light of self-annihilation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and awe.
Amid the dust and debris of the fallen Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The revered statue of the Supreme One, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
This was the most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, based on his actual appearance. Only during the annual High Priest ceremony were the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, the statue stood unveiled.
Carved into what seemed like the face of a mountain, the Supreme One’s visage was lifelike, especially his eyes—gazing forward with a blend of compassion and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine brilliance and presence, a masterpiece beyond mortal craftsmanship. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single hair stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders resisted using magic, instead ordering Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands toiled with the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters were allowed—to painstakingly carve the Supreme One’s likeness from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they seem. Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and souls of our Ursa people’s ten greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his thoughts churning. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called ‘one true god’ had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Clans, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed he had granted the universe’s intelligent beings a chance for free development. But in truth, there had to be a hidden motive—one known only to him, serving his own interests.
For himself, he could sacrifice anyone. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had vanished years ago, never to return, and now the Elder Council—the symbol of his authority—had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, built from gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings. Each spire seemed to hold profound meaning.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace complex. Instead, they had been hidden beside the statue, shielded by the council’s grand halls, invisible to outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by dedicated keepers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Generally, once one reached the Saint Realm, their lifespan extended to the natural limit of their species—living a hundred or two hundred years was common.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was notoriously secretive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. He studied the Spirit Bone Pagodas more closely. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent. The entire cemetery was tended by a single elderly sweeper—proof that Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an unease about the pagodas, as if they harbored something ominous.
But there was no time to dwell on it. With the collapse of the Elder Council’s structures, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes blazing with the intent to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed.
Fueled by rage and humiliation at their council’s destruction, the Elders needed no urging from Su Hanjing. They charged out, ready to clash with Yang Hao’s forces in a desperate battle.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one would dare provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to take the Alchemy Sect down with them.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defensive line was torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders radiated a crimson aura, their killing intent overwhelming. They cut through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder, leaving devastation in their wake.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered the Elders, surrounding them proved futile. The Elders’ sheer power kept their foes at bay, leaving the battlefield littered with fallen warriors.
Hurd gripped his great axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with a thunderous battle cry.
The Elders, though formidable, began to falter. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming—wherever he struck, nearby Elders fell.
But the Elders’ greatest weakness was their numbers. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sect had endless reinforcements, while the Elders were limited to three hundred. Each loss weakened their suppression of the enemy, forcing them into a defensive stance with no room for counterattacks.
Yet even their defense stalled Yang Hao’s advance.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been blaring for some time. The commotion would have reached every corner of the planet, let alone the imperial city.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards joined the fray, retreat would be the only option.
“Hurry! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he gripped the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. Tonight marked the zenith of his life—his brightest, most glorious moment.
As Yang Hao raised the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, a weapon famed across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god. Even Steward Elders had fallen to its power.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body a withered husk with no further purpose.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing Su Hanjing’s chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in the divine flames of the Flaming Bow.
Yet at the same time, a wisp of gray-white energy—his last vestige of vitality—separated from his body and shot toward the Supreme One’s statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his final breath into a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Flee!
Su Hanjing’s spirit darted to the base of the statue, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone, inaccessible even to Elders. Legends spoke of the ancient masters who slumbered within, the founders of the Elder Council.
The garden’s sole caretaker was an unnamed old man who swept and cleaned the pagodas daily. No one knew his origins or his true power.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s direct disciple. The blood sacrifice technique had been passed down from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His spirit drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “This unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face framed by a plain gray robe, a stark contrast to the Elders’ splendor. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards vanished after entering the imperial city—likely trapped. Three hundred Elders are besieged by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze to the old man. “Master, my spirit is spent… beyond saving… The only way now… is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath dissipated. His sorrowful eyes lingered on the old man as his gray shadow faded into the wind.
Su Hanjing had lived in obscurity for forty years, but history would remember his name for his sacrifice tonight.
Yet the fall of the Elder Council was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each striking an Elder who could have rallied their forces. The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Under normal circumstances, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly. But with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s relentless arrows from behind, the Elders were forced into retreat.
The old man in the Spirit Bone Pagodas watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of spirit vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept these pagodas since the first Elder’s entombment, his duty passed down from the Supreme One himself. Once a proud young elite entering the Elder Council, he was now aged beyond recognition. His task, too, was nearing its end.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
A surge of energy flowed into the pagoda, making the entire structure tremble. The bells swayed, emitting a heart-wrenching chime—a sound so piercing it could make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells reached their crescendo, he had crumbled to dust.
But in that moment, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
Within them sat figures clad in gray robes—elderly men who now rose, their eyes opening with solemn gravity.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation firsthand. As the gray-robed figures emerged, cries erupted:
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great One!”
The gray-robed elders stepped forward, their gazes calm yet imposing as they surveyed Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. He could tell—these were all Saint Realm experts, Elders of a kind he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd hefted his axe, bellowing, “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the Elder ranks. Though chaos reigned among their forces, the three hundred newly emerged elders moved with eerie calm, swiftly forming a new defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council. Thus, he decreed that Elders would never truly die,” the gray-robed elder intoned. “We, honored by the Supreme One’s grace, were granted eternal life. To prepare for this day, we willingly entered the Spirit Bone Pagodas, sealing ourselves in suspended animation. Now that enemies have come, we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just what we saw on the surface.”
“Correct,” the elder said proudly. “And now, you will perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Meanwhile, in the cosmos, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this self-inflicted light.
This almost signified the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders.
Though separated by infinite distances, the sight of destruction unfolding both above and below was enough to evoke profound sighs and lamentations.
Amid the dust of the collapsing Elder Council, people gasped in astonishment once more. The reason was simple: the Supreme Statue, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, was only unveiled during the annual High Priest ceremony, when the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles were permitted to pay homage.
Now, bereft of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was exposed.
Carved into what seemed like a mountainside, the Supreme One’s visage was lifelike, especially his eyes—gazing forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely a stone sculpture, it radiated divine brilliance and aura, a masterpiece beyond human craftsmanship. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single hair stretching over a hundred meters.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the cosmos for the Supreme One. These Elders refrained from using magic and instead compelled the Emperor to summon artisans from across the galaxies. Tens of thousands toiled with the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—to painstakingly chisel this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes, how compassionate they are. Yet those eyes were bought with the lives and sacrifices of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, realizing that for the sake of a stone body, countless lives had been discarded. This so-called one true god of the world had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Race, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed to grant intelligent beings a chance for free development, but in truth, it concealed a secret—one known only to the Supreme One, serving his own interests.
For himself, he could sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme One’s guiding principle.
Though rage simmered in Yang Hao’s heart, it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, never to return, and the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the feet of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, built of gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings, each spire seemingly imbued with profound meaning.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace but were hidden independently beside the statue, shielded by the council’s structures, making them nearly invisible to outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within these pagodas, their bodies guarded by appointed caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die too?” Yang Hao sneered. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended a person’s lifespan to the limit of their species, allowing them to live a hundred or two hundred years naturally.
“A limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest Elder is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that Elders never die was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd immediately pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old man was always tight-lipped about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the Spirit Bone Pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, the entire cemetery guarded by a lone elderly janitor. Clearly, Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an odd unease about these pagodas, as if they harbored something unexpected.
But there was no time to dwell on it. With the Elder Council’s collapse, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes bloodshot, ready to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s structures, the Elders inside, fully empowered, remained unharmed.
Fresh from Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, their strength amplified, and humiliated by the council’s destruction, they refused to retreat. Without Su Hanjing’s command, they charged out, determined to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the last breath.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders glowed crimson, their killing intent overwhelming as they slashed through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the three hundred Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being cut down.
Hurd gripped his axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with a thunderous battle cry.
The Elders faltered. A Saint Realm peak warrior like Hurd was devastating, capable of dealing fatal blows wherever he struck.
But the Elders lacked numbers. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sect’s forces were endless—one fell, another took their place. Meanwhile, the Elders numbered only three hundred. Each one Hurd felled weakened their suppression of the enemy. The tide turned, leaving them barely able to defend themselves, let alone counterattack.
Yet their defense still stalled Yang Hao’s advance.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had blared for so long that the commotion must have reached every corner of the planet, let alone the imperial city.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Stewards, they would have returned by now.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards joined the fray, retreat would be inevitable.
“Quick! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure in decades, he had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. His brightest, most glorious moment was tonight.
When Yang Hao lifted the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, renowned across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, one that had even wounded the Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already drained away in the sacrifice, his body withered and useless.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in the Flaming Bow’s divine flames.
Yet, at the same moment, a pale, fragmented shadow escaped his body, darting toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, converting his last breath into a wisp of spiritual will.
Retreat! Quickly!
Su Hanjing’s spirit fled to the Supreme Statue’s feet, into the garden of hundreds of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders couldn’t enter freely. Legend held that they housed the slumbering remains of every Elder since the council’s founding.
The garden’s sole inhabitant was an old janitor who swept and washed the pagodas daily. Nameless and faceless, no one knew who he was or what power he wielded.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s direct disciple. The blood sacrifice he’d used was learned from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life was at its end.
His spirit drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a faint remnant, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his face gaunt, clad in a plain gray robe, far from the Elders’ splendor. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. Please, intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards vanished after entering the imperial city—likely trapped. Three hundred Elders are suppressed by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that technique now, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his gaze, staring at the old man. “Master, my spirit is dispersing… beyond saving… The only way now… is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath faded. His sorrowful eyes fixed on the old man as his gray shadow dissipated into the wind.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for his stand tonight.
But the Elder Council’s fall was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elder Council buckled, retreating step by step.
Inside the Spirit Bone Pagoda, the old janitor watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of spirit vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept here since the first Elder entered the pagodas, his days uncountable. The duty left by the Supreme One still weighed on his shoulders. Once a brilliant young man entering the Elder Council, now aged beyond recognition, his task was finally ending.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, each level hung with seven golden bells.
Power surged into the pagoda, making the entire structure tremble. The bells swayed, emitting a heart-wrenching chime—a sound so piercing it could make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells’ vibrations peaked, he had crumbled to dust.
But simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered. Inside each sat a gray-robed elder.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
By now, the three hundred Elders had retreated to the Supreme Statue’s feet. Witnessing the pagodas’ transformation and the emergence of the gray-robed elders, they cried out in unison.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes, stepping forth solemnly to gaze at Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock indescribable. He could tell—these were all Saint Realm experts, Elders of a kind he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, hefting his axe. “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the Elder ranks. Though chaos reigned among them, the newly emerged elders remained composed, swiftly replacing their brethren to form a defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council, so he decreed that Elders never die,” the gray-robed elder said. “We, unworthy as we are, were granted eternal life by his grace. To guard against this day, we sealed ourselves in the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. When enemies came, we would awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just the power we saw.”
“Correct,” the gray elder said proudly. “And now, you will die!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
These spires had not been part of the Elder Council’s palace before. Instead, they were hidden separately on one side of the statue, obscured by the palace structures, making them difficult for outsiders to notice.
Meanwhile, in the cosmos, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, half the galaxy was engulfed in this self-inflicted light.
This almost signified the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders.
Though separated by infinite distance, the simultaneous destruction above and below was a sight that left people sighing with profound emotion.
Amid the dust of the collapsing Elder Council, people gasped in awe once more. The reason was simple: the Supreme Statue, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved based on the Supreme One’s own likeness before his ascension, was only accessible to the royal family and the highest nobility during the annual High Priest ceremony.
Now, bereft of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was unveiled.
Carved into what seemed like a mountainside, the Supreme One’s visage was lifelike, especially his eyes—gazing forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely a stone sculpture, it radiated divine light and aura, a masterpiece beyond human craftsmanship. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single hair stretching over a hundred meters.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hed whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the cosmos for the Supreme One. These Elders resisted using magic and instead compelled the Heroic Emperor to gather artisans from across the galaxy. Tens of thousands toiled with the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hed’s gaze was cold. “See the compassion in his eyes? Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and toil of our Ursa people’s ten greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue. For the sake of a stone body, lives had been so carelessly spent. This so-called sole deity of the universe had never acted for others.
The Supreme One unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Race, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed to grant intelligent life a chance for free development, but in truth, it concealed a secret—one known only to the Supreme One, serving his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though seething with anger, Yang Hao knew it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had ascended years ago and never returned, and now his symbol of authority, the Elder Council, had crumbled.
At the feet of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, built of gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings, each spire seemingly imbued with profound meaning.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace but were hidden beside the statue, shielded by the Council’s structures, invisible to outsiders.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hed explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within, their bodies guarded by specialists.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the limit of their species—living a century or two was natural.
“But a limit is still a limit,” Hed said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest Elder is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re no younger than those Elders.”
Hed immediately pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old man was always evasive about his true strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the Spirit Bone Pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent. The entire cemetery was tended by a single elderly sweeper, suggesting that even Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an odd unease about the pagodas, as if they harbored something unexpected.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred Elders surged forth, their eyes blazing with fury, ready to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defense and toppled the Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, fully empowered, remained unharmed.
Freshly bolstered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, the Elders, humiliated by the Council’s destruction, refused to retreat. Without Su Hanjing’s urging, they charged out, determined to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the last.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders, wreathed in crimson light, cut through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered the Elders, surrounding them, they couldn’t close the distance before being decimated.
Hed gripped his great axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with a thunderous battle cry.
The Elders faltered. Hed’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming; wherever he struck, nearby Elders fell.
But the Elders were outnumbered. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sect’s forces seemed endless, while the Elders numbered only three hundred. Each loss weakened their suppression of the enemy, leaving them barely able to defend themselves.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been blaring for so long that the commotion must have reached every corner of the planet, let alone the imperial city.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Stewards, they would have returned by now.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards returned, retreat would be inevitable.
“Quick! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of recent decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. His brightest, most glorious moment was tonight.
As Yang Hao raised the bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, renowned across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true deity, even wounding Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had long been spent in the sacrifice, his body dried and useless.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in the bow’s divine flames.
Yet, at the same moment, a wisp of gray-white shadow escaped his body, streaking toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a spiritual wisp.
Retreat! Flee!
The wisp darted to the statue’s feet, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone, inaccessible even to Elders. Legend held that they housed the slumbering masters of the Elder Council since its founding.
The garden’s sole inhabitant was an old sweeper who tended the pagodas daily. Nameless and faceless, his strength remained unknown—except to Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his direct disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life was at its end.
His wisp drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a mere shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, gaunt and clad in plain gray robes, a far cry from the Elders’ splendor. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. Please, intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards are trapped in the imperial city, likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are overwhelmed by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing looked up at his master. “Master, my spirit is fading… beyond saving… The only way now is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath dissipated. His shadow faded, his sorrowful gaze lingering on the old man.
Su Hanjing, obscure for forty years, would be remembered by history for his stand tonight.
But the Elder Council’s fall was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao, but with Hed’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Council was forced to retreat.
The old man in the pagoda watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp vanish into the wind. With a sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept the pagodas since the first Elder’s entombment, his duty ordained by the Supreme One. From a proud young recruit to a withered elder, his task was finally ending.
He placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven-tiered, each level hung with seven golden bells.
Power surged into the pagoda, shaking it violently. The bells swayed, emitting a heart-rending chime—a sound so piercing it could bleed ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his essence. When the bells’ tremor peaked, he crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, the three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered, revealing gray-robed elders seated within.
The sight stunned both Yang Hao’s forces and the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the statue’s feet, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed elders emerged, cries erupted:
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Master!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes and stepped forth, surveying Yang Hao’s forces with solemn calm.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hed, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts, Elders of a kind Yang Hao had never heard of.
“Is the legend of undying Elders true?” Hed hefted his axe, roaring, “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
A gray-robed elder stepped forward from the ranks. Though chaos reigned among the Elders, the three hundred newcomers were composed, swiftly forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his ascension, the Council would face threats, thus decreeing the Elders’ immortality,” the elder said. “We, deemed worthy by the Supreme One, were granted eternal life. To guard against this day, we sealed ourselves in the pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. When enemies came, we awoke.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Council’s centuries of foundation were never just its visible strength.”
“Indeed,” the elder said proudly. “Now, perish!”
With that, the Elders counterattacked.
“Do even these old guys eventually die?” Yang Hao sneered. Generally speaking, once one reaches the Saint Realm, their lifespan extends to the natural limit of sentient beings, living a hundred or two hundred years being quite normal.
Meanwhile, in the depths of space, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and within moments, nearly half the star system was engulfed in the blinding light of self-annihilation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was enough to evoke profound sorrow and lament.
Amid the settling dust of the fallen Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The revered statue of the Supreme One, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the Supreme One’s likeness before his ascension, was a sight reserved only for the imperial family and the highest nobility during the annual High Priest ceremony.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form stood unveiled.
Carved into the face of a mountain, the Supreme One’s visage was rendered with lifelike precision—especially his eyes, gazing forward with benevolence and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine light and presence, a masterpiece beyond mortal skill. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with individual strands stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“It took the lives of ten thousand artisans to carve this statue,” Hurd murmured to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the devotion of all beings in the cosmos to the Supreme One. The Elders, stubbornly refusing magic, forced Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the galaxy. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser chisels were allowed—to carve this effigy from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze turned cold. “See the compassion in his eyes? That compassion was bought with the blood and lives of our people’s greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his heart heavy. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called ‘one true god’ had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order—seemingly granting wisdom and freedom to all. Yet behind it all lay a secret known only to him, a secret that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, and now the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged—each over three meters tall, intricately carved with cryptic patterns, their meanings profound and unfathomable.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace. Hidden behind the ruins, they had remained unseen by outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Spires,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by chosen keepers.”
“These old monsters can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a century or two was commonplace.
“Even limits have limits,” Hurd replied. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. Death comes for all. The Supreme One’s claim of the Elders’ immortality was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was always tight-lipped about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the spires. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, the entire mausoleum guarded only by a lone, aged caretaker. Clearly, the Elders rarely visited.
Yet something about the spires unsettled Yang Hao—an inexplicable sense of foreboding.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s ruins collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes blazing with vengeance.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s structures, the Elders themselves, empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood ritual, remained unharmed.
Humiliated by the destruction of their sanctum, they were no longer willing to hide. Without Su Hanjing’s command, they charged forth, ready to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to drag the Alchemy Sect down with them.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood ritual, the Elders moved like whirlwinds of slaughter, cutting down Alchemy Sect disciples with terrifying efficiency. Though outnumbered, the Elders’ sheer might kept their enemies at bay, leaving the battlefield strewn with corpses.
Hurd, gripping his great axe, joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming—wherever he struck, Elders fell. But their numbers were finite. For every Elder slain, their collective pressure weakened. Soon, they could only defend, no longer counterattack.
Yet their defense stalled Yang Hao’s forces.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarms had blared for too long. By now, the entire planet—let alone the imperial city—would have heard.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they would soon return. Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. Adding the Stewards to the mix would spell certain defeat.
“Faster! We must move faster!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he drew the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The once-obscure figure, having burned his life in the blood ritual, would meet his brightest, most glorious moment tonight.
As Yang Hao raised the bow, Su Hanjing saw it coming.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what the golden-red bow wreathed in flames represented—the Flaming Bow, foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god. Even Steward Elders had fallen to it.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had long been spent in the ritual, his body a withered husk.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body erupted into divine flames.
Yet as he burned, a wisp of gray-white energy escaped his body, darting toward the Supreme One’s statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a fleeting spirit.
Retreat! Flee!
His spirit raced to the statue’s base, where the hundreds of Spirit Bone Spires stood.
The spires were forbidden ground—even Elders seldom entered. Legends spoke of the ancient masters of the Elder Council slumbering within.
The mausoleum’s sole caretaker, an unnamed old man sweeping the grounds daily, was the only one present. None knew his origins or his strength.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his disciple, having learned the blood ritual from him.
Now, at life’s end, Su Hanjing’s spirit drifted to the old man’s feet.
“Master.”
“So it has come to this?” The old man’s voice was mournful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no sorrow. “This unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face weathered, his plain gray robe a stark contrast to the Elders’ finery. Yet the glint in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are ruined. Tonight, all will perish unless you act.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards are trapped in the imperial city, likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are pinned by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that technique, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze. “Master… my spirit scatters… beyond saving… now, only…”
With those final words, his last breath dissipated, his gray shadow vanishing into the wind.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for this night.
But the Elder Council’s fall was inevitable.
After slaying Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s heart—the most capable leaders remaining.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s relentless arrows from behind, the Elders were forced into retreat.
Within the Spirit Bone Spires, the old caretaker watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp fade. With a sigh, he cast aside his broom.
Countless years of sweeping had passed since the first Elder’s entombment, but the duty bestowed by the Supreme One weighed on him still. Once a brilliant young recruit, now aged beyond recognition, his task was finally ending.
His hand rested on a unique spire—golden, seven-tiered, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
A surge of power shook the spire, the bells trembling with a heart-rending chime.
The sound, piercing and prolonged, seemed capable of drawing blood from ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. His vitality drained into the spire, and as the bells reached their crescendo, he crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, all three hundred spires shattered, revealing within them gray-robed elders seated in meditation.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
By now, the Elders had retreated to the statue’s base, witnessing the spires’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures emerged, cries erupted.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes, stepping forth with solemn dignity, their gazes coolly assessing Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were clearly Saint Realm experts—Elders of a kind he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the Elders’ immortality true?” Hurd hefted his axe, bellowing, “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the ranks. Despite the chaos, the three hundred newcomers moved with eerie calm, swiftly reinforcing the defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme One, in his infinite wisdom, foresaw that after his departure, the Elder Council would face threats,” the elder intoned. “Thus, he decreed the Elders’ immortality. We, honored by his grace, sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Spires, entering a deathless slumber. Only in times of crisis do we awaken.”
Yang Hao exhaled. “The Elder Council’s centuries of power were never just what we saw.”
“Indeed,” the elder said proudly. “And now, you shall perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smiled. “You yourself aren’t much younger than those Elders.”
Hede immediately closed his mouth and said nothing more. This old fellow always kept his strength a mystery.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. Looking more closely at the Spirit Bone Pagodas through the dust, they appeared solemn and imposing. Within the entire cemetery, there was only one elderly worker sweeping, indicating that no Elders had ever entered here in normal times.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt something strange about these Spirit Bone Pagodas, as if they might bring some unexpected calamity.
But he had no time to dwell on it now. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred Elders burst forth. This time, the Elders were truly furious, ready to fight to the death.
Although the fleet’s collective suicide attacks had shattered the Great Light Defense and destroyed the Elder Council’s buildings, the Elders inside had not been harmed—they had been fully protected.
The Elders had just absorbed the power boost from Su Hanzheng’s blood sacrifice ritual, their bodies brimming with energy. Having suffered the humiliation of the Elder Council’s destruction, they refused to hide any longer. Without needing Su Hanzheng’s command, they charged out themselves, determined to fight Yang Hao and his forces to the bitter end.
After all, these were three hundred Elders—normally an immense force no one dared provoke. Today, having suffered this great humiliation, they were willing to sacrifice their lives to annihilate the Dan Ding Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Longyou Legion’s front line was torn apart.
Affected by the blood ritual, the Elders radiated red light, exuding killing intent. They slashed left and right like meat grinders, determined to crush every member of the Dan Ding Sect.
Although the Dan Ding Sect had the advantage in numbers, surrounding the three hundred Elders in the center, they couldn’t get close before being cut down in disarray.
Hede gripped his long axe and joined the battle, boosting the morale of the Longyou Legion, who erupted into fierce battle cries.
The Elders began to struggle, as the peak Saint Realm power was simply too formidable. Wherever Hede appeared, he could deal fatal damage to several Elders at once.
And the Elders were short on numbers. The Longyou Legion and Dan Ding Sword Sect had the advantage in manpower—one fell, another replaced him, seemingly endless. But the Elders numbered only three hundred. Each one Hede killed meant one less to suppress their enemies. As the balance shifted, they could barely defend themselves, let alone counterattack.
Still, their defense left Yang Hao’s forces unable to advance.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been ringing for a long time. With such a commotion, it was impossible that even the Imperial City, let alone any other corner of the planet, hadn’t noticed.
If the old sword saint couldn’t hold back the Nine Stewards, those fellows would soon return.
Yang Hao understood clearly that with his current forces, even handling the three hundred Elders was already difficult. Adding the Nine Stewards would only lead to defeat.
Meanwhile, in the depths of space, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and within moments, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this self-inflicted devastation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous destruction above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and awe.
Amid the dust and debris of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The Supreme Statue, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, it was a masterpiece based on his actual appearance. Only during the annual High Priest ceremony were the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, the statue stood unveiled.
Carved into the face of a mountain, the Supreme One’s visage was rendered with lifelike precision—especially his eyes, gazing forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine brilliance and presence, a testament to craftsmanship beyond mortal skill. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with individual strands stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“It took the lives of ten thousand artisans to carve this statue,” Hurd murmured to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders forbade the use of magic, forcing Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters were allowed—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they seem. Yet that compassion was bought with the blood and lives of our Ursa people’s ten greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his heart heavy. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been discarded. This so-called one true god of the universe had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Race, and reshaped the cosmic order—seemingly granting sentient beings the freedom to flourish. Yet behind it all lay a secret known only to him, a secret that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had vanished years ago, never to return, and now the Elder Council—the symbol of his authority—had crumbled.
At the base of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with patterns that seemed to hold profound meaning. These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace but had been hidden beside the statue, shielded from outsiders’ sight.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by dedicated caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a century or two was commonplace.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of the Elders’ immortality was just propaganda.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was notoriously secretive about his true strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, the cemetery grounds occupied only by a lone elderly caretaker. Clearly, the Elders rarely visited.
Yet something about the pagodas unsettled Yang Hao—an inexplicable sense of foreboding.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes blazing with the intent to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed. Humiliated by the destruction of their sanctum, they charged out without hesitation, ready to clash with Yang Hao’s forces.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to drag the Alchemy Sect down with them.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart. Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders moved like whirlwinds of slaughter, cutting down Alchemy Sect members with terrifying efficiency.
Though outnumbered, the Elders’ sheer ferocity kept the Alchemy Sect at bay, their ranks thinning rapidly.
Hurd, gripping his great axe, joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with a thunderous battle cry.
The Elders faltered under the assault. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming—wherever he struck, nearby Elders fell like wheat before a scythe.
But the Elders’ greatest weakness was their dwindling numbers. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sect forces seemed endless, while the Elders had only three hundred. Each loss weakened their suppression of the enemy, forcing them into a desperate defensive stance.
Yet even in defense, they held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarms had been blaring for some time—such a commotion would be heard across the entire planet, let alone the imperial city.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Stewards, they would have returned by now.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards joined the fight, retreat would be inevitable.
“Quickly! We must act now!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The once-obscure figure, who had burned his life in the blood sacrifice, would meet his end tonight—the brightest and most glorious moment of his existence.
As Yang Hao drew the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it coming.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, a weapon famed throughout the empire.
The Flaming Bow—foremost among the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, even wounding the Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body a withered husk.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames, consumed by the bow’s power.
Yet at the same time, a wisp of gray-white energy—Su Hanjing’s last vestige of spirit—fled his burning body, streaking toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his final breath into a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Flee!
His spirit darted to the base of the statue, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders rarely entered. Legend held that the remains of every Elder since the Council’s founding rested here.
Only one caretaker tended the grounds—an ancient, nameless man whose origins and strength were unknown to all.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s direct disciple. The blood sacrifice technique had been passed down from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His spirit drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though barely a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. I’ve given my all in this battle, fulfilling decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face weathered, his gray robe plain compared to the Elders’ finery. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards have vanished in the imperial city—likely trapped. Three hundred Elders are besieged by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that technique now, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze. “Master… my spirit scatters… beyond saving… the only way now… is…”
With those final words, his last breath dissipated, his gray shadow dissolving into the wind.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for his stand tonight.
But the Elder Council’s fall was now unstoppable.
After slaying Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s heart—the most capable leaders remaining after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Under normal circumstances, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly. But with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s relentless arrows from afar, the Elders were forced into retreat.
Within the pagoda garden, the old caretaker watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of spirit vanish into the wind. With a sigh, he cast aside his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder was interred here, his duty ordained by the Supreme One himself. From a proud young man entering the Elder Council to this withered old age, his task was finally ending.
His hand rested on a unique pagoda—golden, seven-tiered, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
Channeling his power into the pagoda, he triggered a tremor that shook the entire structure. The bells swayed, their chimes piercing, agonizing—enough to make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells’ vibrations peaked, he had crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
From within emerged figures clad in gray robes—elderly men seated in meditation.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures stepped forth, cries erupted.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed ancients opened their eyes, their gazes solemn as they regarded Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These were all Saint Realm experts—Elders whose existence he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the Elders’ immortality… true?” Hurd gripped his axe, bellowing, “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the ranks. Though chaos reigned among the Elders, the newly emerged three hundred moved with eerie calm, swiftly forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power,” the gray elder intoned. “Foreseeing that his departure would invite attacks on the Elder Council, he decreed the Elders’ immortality. We, deemed worthy by his grace, accepted eternal life, sealing ourselves within the pagodas in suspended animation. Only in the face of invasion would we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just the power we saw.”
“Indeed,” the gray elder said proudly. “And now, you shall perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Su Hanzheng’s end had arrived. This obscure nobody, who had lived in obscurity for decades, had burned away his life tonight through the blood ritual. His most brilliant and glorious moment had come tonight.
Meanwhile, in the cosmos, the self-destruction of the warships proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one vessel to another, and before long, half the galaxy was engulfed in this self-inflicted light.
This almost signified the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders.
Though separated by infinite distances, the sight of destruction unfolding both above and below was enough to evoke profound sighs and lamentations.
Amid the dust of the collapsing Senate, people gasped in astonishment once more—for the first time in centuries, the true visage of the Supreme Statue was finally revealed.
The most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, was only unveiled to the royal family and the highest nobility during the annual High Priest ceremony.
Now, stripped of the Senate’s protection, its true form stood exposed.
Carved into the face of a mountain, the Supreme Statue was rendered with lifelike precision, especially the eyes—gazing forward with benevolence and serenity. Though merely stone, it radiated divine brilliance and aura, a masterpiece beyond human craftsmanship. The Supreme One’s hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single strand stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. These Elders refrained from magic, instead compelling the Emperor to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “See the compassion in his eyes? Yet that compassion was bought with the blood and lives of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue. For a mere stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called ‘only god in the world’ had never acted for others.
The Supreme One unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order—seemingly granting intelligent life a chance for free development. Yet behind it all lay a secret known only to him, one that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, and the Senate, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged—each over three meters tall, intricately carved with profound symbols. These spires, hidden behind the Senate’s palaces, had gone unnoticed by outsiders.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within, their bodies guarded by specialists.”
“These old men can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the limits of their species—living a century or two was natural.
“Limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Senate has stood for centuries. The oldest Elder was over five hundred. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips shut, refusing to speak further. The old man was always secretive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press. Studying the pagodas, he found them eerily solemn in the dust, with only a lone elderly caretaker sweeping the grounds. Clearly, Elders rarely visited.
Yet something about the pagodas unsettled Yang Hao, as if they foreboded something unforeseen.
But there was no time to dwell. As the Senate collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes blazing with vengeance.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Radiance Barrier and the Senate’s structures, the Elders within remained unharmed. Empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood ritual, they now sought to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force none dared provoke—now fought with reckless abandon, tearing through the Dragon Guard’s defenses like a meat grinder.
Despite their numbers, the Dan Ding Sect struggled to close in, suffering heavy losses.
Hurd, gripping his axe, joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming, and with each Elder he felled, their suppression weakened.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Senate’s alarms had long sounded—such commotion would reach every corner of the planet. If the Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Executors, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. Adding the Nine Executors would spell defeat.
“Quick! We must hurry!” Yang Hao raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The once-obscure figure, having burned his life in the blood ritual, now faced his final moment.
As the Flaming Bow loosed its arrow, Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His body, drained by the ritual, erupted in divine flames.
Yet a wisp of his spirit escaped, darting toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his body to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a fleeing spirit.
Retreat! Flee!
His spirit reached the pagodas—a forbidden zone even for Elders. Legends spoke of ancient masters slumbering within.
Only one caretaker swept the grounds, nameless and unknown.
Su Hanjing’s spirit whispered at his feet: “Master.”
“Is it truly this dire?” the old man murmured.
“Master… I have failed you. But I fought with all I had.”
The caretaker’s eyes gleamed with hidden power.
“The Senate is lost. Only you can save us now.”
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this the end?”
“The Nine Executors are trapped. Three hundred Elders are overwhelmed. Yang Hao’s bow will pick them off one by one. We must act.”
Su Hanjing’s spirit faded, his final words lingering in the wind.
His name would be remembered—but the Senate’s fall was inevitable.
Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each striking an Elder commander. The Flaming Bow was their bane.
Pushed back to the statue’s base, the Elders witnessed the pagodas shatter.
From within emerged three hundred gray-robed figures—long-dead Elders, now awakened.
“Teachers!” the living Elders cried.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked, stunned.
Hurd growled, “The ‘Elders never die’ legend… is real. Those are the Senate’s fallen.”
A gray-robed Elder stepped forward. “The Supreme One foresaw this day. He granted us eternal slumber in the pagodas, to awaken when enemies came.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Senate’s legacy runs deeper than I thought.”
“Indeed,” the Elder said coldly. “Now, perish!”
With that, the counterattack began.
The world around him seemed to fall silent, time frozen. Su Hanzheng naturally knew what Yang Hao held—a longbow of golden-red flame, already famous throughout the Empire.
Meanwhile, in the cosmos, the self-destruction of the warships proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one vessel to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this self-inflicted devastation.
This spectacle almost signified the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous destruction above and below was a sight that evoked profound sighs and lamentations.
Amid the dust of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason was the unveiling of the Supreme Statue, which had remained hidden for centuries, now standing in full view before the people.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, it was only during the annual High Priest ceremony that the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles were permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was finally revealed.
Carved into what seemed like the face of a mountain, the statue captured the Supreme One’s likeness with uncanny precision—especially his eyes, gazing forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely a stone sculpture, it radiated divine brilliance and presence, a masterpiece that could only be described as divinely crafted. The Supreme One’s hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single strand stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the cosmos for the Supreme One. These Elders resisted using magic and instead compelled the Emperor to summon artisans from across the galaxies. Tens of thousands, armed with only the most primitive tools—not even basic laser chisels—painstakingly carved this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they are. Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and sacrifices of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue. For the sake of a stone effigy, lives had been callously discarded. This so-called sole deity of the world had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Race, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed he had granted the intelligent beings of the cosmos a chance for free development, but in truth, there must have been a hidden motive—a secret known only to him, one that served his own interests.
For himself, he could sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme One’s guiding principle.
Though seething with indignation, Yang Hao knew it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed and never returned, and now the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the feet of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, built of gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings. Each spire seemed to hold profound significance.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace complex but had been hidden beside the statue, shielded by the council’s structures, making them nearly invisible to outsiders.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within these pagodas, their remains guarded by designated keepers.”
“These old bastards can die too?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, upon reaching the Saint Realm, a being’s lifespan extended to the natural limit of their species—living a hundred or two hundred years was commonplace.
“But a limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd immediately pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old man was always evasive about his true strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, instead studying the Spirit Bone Pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent. The entire cemetery was tended by a single elderly sweeper, suggesting that Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an odd unease about these pagodas, as if they harbored something unexpected.
But there was no time to dwell on it. With the Elder Council’s collapse, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with rage, ready to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the council’s structures, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed.
Fueled by humiliation and newfound strength, the Elders needed no prompting from Su Hanjing. They charged out, determined to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the bitter end.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Bathed in the red glow of the blood sacrifice, the Elders cut through the battlefield like a meat grinder, slaughtering all in their path.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the three hundred Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being decimated.
Hurd gripped his axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered under the pressure. Hurd, a Saint Realm powerhouse, wreaked havoc wherever he struck, dealing fatal blows to multiple Elders at once.
But the Elders were outnumbered. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sword Sect’s forces seemed endless, with fallen warriors instantly replaced. The Elders, however, dwindled with each loss, their suppression weakening. Soon, they could barely defend themselves, let alone counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarms had been blaring for some time. The commotion would have reached every corner of the planet, let alone the imperial city.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Executors, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Executors joined the fray, retreat would be the only option.
“Hurry! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. His brightest, most glorious moment was tonight.
As Yang Hao raised the bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, a weapon renowned across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true deity, one that had even wounded the Executor Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body withered and useless.
When the arrow of fury streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in the divine flames of the Flaming Bow.
Yet, as he burned, a wisp of gray-white shadow escaped his body, darting toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his last breath into a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Flee!
Su Hanjing’s will sped to the base of the Supreme Statue, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone, inaccessible even to the Elders. Legend held that they housed the remains of every Elder since the council’s founding.
The garden’s sole caretaker, an unnamed old man, swept and washed the pagodas daily. No one knew his origins or his strength—except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his direct disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life was at its end.
His will drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a mere shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, gaunt and clad in plain gray robes, a stark contrast to the Elders’ splendor. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Executor Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was faint.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Executors vanished after entering the imperial city—likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are besieged by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing looked up at the old man. “Master, my spirit is fading… beyond saving… The only way now is…”
With those final words, his last breath dissipated. His shadow faded, leaving only sorrow in his gaze.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for his stand tonight.
But the Elder Council’s fall was now unstoppable.
After slaying Su Hanjing, Yang Hao fired nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elder Council buckled, retreating step by step.
Inside the Spirit Bone Pagoda, the old man watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of will vanish into the wind. With a sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept the pagodas since the first Elder’s entombment, his duty ordained by the Supreme One. From a proud young man entering the council to this withered elder, his task was finally ending.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, shaking it violently. The bells trembled, emitting a heart-wrenching chime so piercing it could draw blood from ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his essence. By the time the bells’ tremors peaked, he had crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, the three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered, revealing gray-robed elders seated within.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the Supreme Statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. The emergence of the gray-robed elders drew collective cries of recognition.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes and stepped forth, their gazes solemn as they regarded Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts, Elders of a kind he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, hefting his axe. “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the Elder ranks. Though chaos reigned among their forces, the three hundred newly emerged elders remained composed, swiftly replacing their comrades and forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sword Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council, hence the decree that Elders never die,” the gray-robed elder declared. “We, deemed worthy by the Supreme One, were granted eternal life. To safeguard against this day, we sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Now that enemies have come, we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just what met the eye.”
“Indeed,” the gray elder said proudly. “And now, you shall perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Su Hanzheng did not even attempt to resist. His blood had already flowed dry from the blood ritual, his body withered and useless.
In the vast expanse of the cosmos, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in the blinding light of self-annihilation.
This spectacle almost signified the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and awe.
Amid the dust and debris of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted from the crowd. The reason? The Supreme Statue, hidden from public view for centuries, had finally revealed itself.
The most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, was a masterpiece based on his actual appearance. Only during the annual High Priest ceremony were the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles permitted to pay homage.
Now, bereft of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form stood unveiled.
Carved into the face of a mountain, the statue was a lifelike depiction of the Supreme One. His eyes, gazing forward with compassion and serenity, seemed to radiate divine light and presence despite being mere stone. The craftsmanship was nothing short of miraculous. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved—each hair stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“In the past, the carving of this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders resisted using magic and instead compelled the Heroic Emperor to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands, armed with only the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—chiseled this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they are. Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and toil of our people’s greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his thoughts churning. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called ‘one true god’ had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed he had granted intelligent life the freedom to flourish. But in truth, there was a hidden secret—one known only to him, serving his own interests.
For his own sake, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, he knew this was coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, never to return, and the Elder Council—the symbol of his authority—had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with patterns that seemed to hold profound meaning. These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace but had been hidden beside the statue, shielded from view.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by dedicated keepers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a century or two was commonplace.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just propaganda.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was always tight-lipped about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent. The cemetery was tended by only one elderly sweeper—proof that the Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an unease about the pagodas, as if they harbored something ominous.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred enraged Elders surged forth, ready for a final, desperate stand.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed.
Fueled by humiliation and newfound strength, they charged without hesitation, determined to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, seeking mutual destruction with the Dan Ding Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the defenses of the Dragon Bless Legion were torn apart.
Bathed in the crimson glow of the blood sacrifice, the Elders carved through their enemies like a meat grinder, their killing intent overwhelming.
Though the Dan Ding Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being cut down.
Hurd, gripping his great axe, joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Bless Legion with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was devastating—wherever he struck, Elders fell.
But the Elders were outnumbered. For every one they felled, another warrior took their place. Meanwhile, their own ranks dwindled with each loss, weakening their suppression of the enemy. Soon, they could only defend, no longer able to counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been sounding for some time. The commotion would have reached every corner of the planet, let alone the imperial city.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they would have returned by now.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards arrived, retreat would be the only option.
“Quickly! We must move quickly!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he raised the Flaming Melting Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The once-obscure figure, who had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice, would meet his end tonight—the brightest and most glorious moment of his life.
As Yang Hao drew the bow, Su Hanjing saw it coming.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what the golden-red bow wreathed in flames represented—the Flaming Melting Bow, foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god. Even Steward Elders had fallen to it.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body a withered husk.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet, as he burned, a wisp of gray-white spirit escaped his flesh, darting toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had abandoned his body to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a fleeting spiritual remnant.
Retreat! Flee!
The remnant sped to the base of the statue, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders were barred from entering. Legends spoke of the ancient masters who slumbered within, the founders of the Elder Council.
Only one old man tended the garden, sweeping and washing the pagodas daily. Nameless and faceless, no one knew who he was or what power he wielded.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his direct disciple. The blood sacrifice had been taught to him by this very man.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His remnant drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a faint shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face weathered, his gray robe plain compared to the Elders’ finery. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards are trapped in the imperial city, likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are pinned down by the Dan Ding Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Melting Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his gaze, staring at the old man. “Master, my spirit is fading… beyond saving… the only way now… is…”
With those final words, his last breath dissipated. His shadow dissolved into the wind, his sorrowful eyes fixed on his master until the end.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for his final stand tonight.
But the fall of the Elder Council was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s heart—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Melting Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s arrows from afar, the Elder Council was forced into retreat.
Inside the Spirit Bone Pagodas, the old man watched Su Hanjing’s last remnant vanish into the wind. With a sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder was interred here, his duty passed down from the Supreme One himself. Once a brilliant young recruit to the Elder Council, he had aged into obscurity, his task now nearing its end.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, shaking it violently. The bells trembled, their chimes piercing and mournful, loud enough to make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells reached their crescendo, he had crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
Within them sat figures clad in gray robes—ancient Elders, long thought dead.
The sight stunned Yang Hao’s forces and the battling Elders alike.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures emerged, cries erupted from the crowd.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great One!”
The gray-robed Elders opened their eyes, stepping forth with solemn dignity, their gazes fixed on Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These were Saint Realm experts—Elders of a kind he had never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd growled, hefting his axe. “Those are the Elders of old. They died long ago.”
One gray-robed figure stepped forward from the Elder ranks. Though chaos reigned among their forces, the three hundred newly emerged Elders moved with calm precision, forming a defensive line against the Dan Ding Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power,” the gray-robed Elder intoned. “He foresaw that after his ascension, enemies would rise against the Elder Council. Thus, he decreed that the Elders would never die. We, deemed worthy by the Supreme One, were granted eternal life. To prepare for this day, we sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Now that enemies have come, we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just the power we saw.”
“Indeed,” the gray-robed Elder said proudly. “And now, you will die.”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
In the vast expanse of the universe, the self-destruction of the warships proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one vessel to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in the blinding light of self-annihilation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing in sorrow and awe.
Amid the dust and debris of the fallen Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The Supreme Statue, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, was a sight reserved only for the royal family and the highest nobility during the annual High Priest ceremony.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was unveiled.
Carved into what seemed like the face of a mountain, the statue captured the Supreme One’s likeness with uncanny precision—especially his eyes, gazing forward with a blend of compassion and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine light and presence, a masterpiece beyond mortal skill. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single strand stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“It took the lives of ten thousand artisans to carve this statue,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders forbade the use of magic, forcing Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “See the compassion in his eyes? Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and souls of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his heart heavy. For a mere stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called “one true god” had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order—seemingly granting wisdom and freedom to the universe. Yet behind it all lay a secret known only to him, a secret that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, this era was ending. The Supreme One had vanished years ago, and now his symbol of authority—the Elder Council—had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with patterns of profound meaning. These spires, hidden behind the Elder Council’s palaces, had gone unnoticed by outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within, their bodies guarded by chosen keepers.”
“These old monsters can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a century or two was common.
“Even limits have limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them lived over five hundred years. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was always evasive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, with only a lone elderly caretaker sweeping the grounds. Clearly, the Elders rarely visited.
Yet something about the pagodas unsettled Yang Hao—an ominous feeling, as if they harbored unforeseen dangers.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with vengeance.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed. Humiliated by the destruction of their sanctum, they charged without hesitation, ready to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to annihilate the Danding Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Longyou Legion’s defenses were torn apart. Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders moved like a meat grinder, cutting down Danding disciples with terrifying efficiency.
Though outnumbered, the Elders’ sheer power kept the Danding forces at bay, leaving them scattered and broken.
Hurd, gripping his great axe, joined the fray, rallying the Longyou Legion with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming; wherever he struck, Elders fell.
But the Elders were few. The Longyou Legion and Danding Sect had endless reinforcements, while the Elders numbered only three hundred. Each loss weakened their suppression of the enemy, leaving them barely able to defend themselves.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at a standstill.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarms had blared for so long that the entire planet—let alone the imperial city—must have heard. If the old Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Stewards arrived, retreat would be the only option.
“Quickly! We must move quickly!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he gripped the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The once-obscure figure had burned his life in the blood sacrifice, his brightest moment unfolding tonight.
As Yang Hao raised the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what the golden-red bow wreathed in flames meant—the legendary weapon that had wounded even Steward Elders.
The Flaming Bow—foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already drained in the sacrifice, his body a withered husk.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet a wisp of gray-white energy escaped his form, streaking toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had abandoned his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a fleeting spirit.
Retreat! Flee!
His spirit darted to the statue’s base, among the hundreds of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders rarely entered. Legends spoke of the ancient masters slumbering within.
Only one caretaker, an unnamed old man, swept the grounds daily. None knew his origins or power.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life was ending.
His spirit drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a mere shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face and plain gray robe a stark contrast to the Elders’ splendor. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight, all will perish unless you act.” Su Hanjing’s voice was faint.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards are trapped in the imperial city, likely ambushed. Three hundred Elders are overwhelmed. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is unstoppable. If we don’t use that technique, he’ll pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze. “Master… my spirit scatters… beyond saving… now, the only way… is…”
With his last breath spent, his shadow dissolved into the wind.
Su Hanjing, unknown for forty years, would be remembered for this night.
But the Elder Council’s fall was inevitable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each striking an Elder who could rally their forces.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might close in to fight, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm vanguard and Yang Hao’s ranged onslaught, the Elders retreated step by step.
The old caretaker watched Su Hanjing’s spirit vanish, then sighed and dropped his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder entered the pagodas, bearing the duty the Supreme One had left him. From a proud young recruit to a withered elder, his task was finally ending.
Placing a hand on a unique golden pagoda—seven tiers tall, each hung with seven golden bells—he channeled his energy into it.
The pagoda trembled violently, its bells ringing with a sound that could shatter eardrums.
Blood streamed from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells’ peal reached its zenith, he had crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered, revealing gray-robed elders seated within.
The sight stunned both Yang Hao’s forces and the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed elders emerged, cries erupted:
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes, stepping forth with solemn dignity to survey Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts—Elders he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, hefting his axe. “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward. Though chaos reigned among the Elders, the three hundred newcomers formed a calm, unshakable line against the Danding Sect.
“The Supreme One foresaw that after his departure, enemies would rise against the Elder Council,” the elder said. “Thus, he decreed that Elders never truly die. We, blessed with eternal life, sealed ourselves in the pagodas, awaiting this day.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of power were never just what we saw.”
“Indeed,” the elder said proudly. “Now, prepare to die!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Su Hanzheng had abandoned his physical body to absorb Yang Hao’s fatal strike, transforming his last breath into a final soul fragment.
Retreat! Retreat quickly!!
Meanwhile, in the depths of space, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions cascaded from one ship to another, and within moments, nearly half the star system was engulfed in the blinding light of mutual annihilation.
This spectacle marked the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was a sight that left onlookers awestruck and sorrowful.
Amid the settling dust of the fallen Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The towering statue of the Supreme One—hidden from public view for centuries—had finally revealed itself.
This was the most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the Supreme One’s likeness before his ascension, based on his actual appearance. Only during the annual High Priest ceremony were the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, the statue stood exposed in all its glory.
Carved into the face of a mountain, the Supreme One’s visage was rendered with lifelike precision. His eyes, gazing forward with benevolence and serenity, seemed to radiate divine light and presence despite being mere stone. The craftsmanship was nothing short of miraculous. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved—some stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“It took the lives of ten thousand artisans to carve this statue,” Hurd murmured to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders forbade the use of magic, forcing Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the galaxies. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser chisels were allowed—to carve this monument from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was icy. “See the compassion in his eyes? That compassion was bought with the lives and sacrifices of our greatest Ursa artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his thoughts darkening. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been discarded. This so-called “one true god” had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order—ostensibly granting freedom to the universe’s intelligent beings. But behind it all, there had to be a secret.
A secret known only to the Supreme One. A secret that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within him, Yang Hao knew this was the end. The Supreme One had vanished years ago, and now his authority—the Elder Council—had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with cryptic patterns. These structures, hidden behind the Elder Council’s palaces, had gone unnoticed by outsiders.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by appointed keepers.”
“These old monsters can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended a being’s lifespan to its natural limit—living a century or two was commonplace.
“A limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim of ‘Elders never die’ was just propaganda.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was notoriously secretive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. Studying the pagodas, he noted their solemnity amidst the dust. The cemetery was tended by a lone elderly sweeper—proof that the Elders rarely visited.
Yet, something about the Spirit Bone Pagodas unsettled him. They felt ominous, as if harboring unforeseen dangers.
But there was no time to dwell. With the Elder Council’s collapse, three hundred enraged Elders surged forth, their fury palpable.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Council’s structures, the Elders inside—empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice—remained unharmed.
Now, fueled by humiliation and newfound strength, they charged without hesitation, ready to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke—were now hellbent on mutual destruction with the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Bathed in crimson light from the blood sacrifice, the Elders carved through the battlefield like a meat grinder, slaughtering all in their path.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered them, the Elders’ sheer power kept them at bay, reducing their ranks with terrifying efficiency.
Hurd, gripping his great axe, joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming—wherever he struck, Elders fell.
But the Elders were outnumbered. For every one they felled, another warrior took their place. Meanwhile, their own ranks dwindled, weakening their suppression. Soon, they could only defend, no longer counterattack.
Yet their defense stalled Yang Hao’s forces.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarms had blared for too long. By now, the entire planet—let alone the imperial city—would have heard.
If the Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. Adding the Stewards would spell defeat.
“Quickly! We must move quickly!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he drew the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The once-obscure figure, having burned himself out with the blood sacrifice, would meet his brightest and final moment tonight.
As Yang Hao raised the bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what the golden-red bow wreathed in flames meant—the Flaming Bow, foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god. Even Steward Elders had fallen to it.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body a withered husk.
When the arrow of wrath—streaking like a fiery dragon—pierced his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet, a wisp of gray-white energy escaped his flesh, streaking toward the Supreme One’s statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his body to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a fleeting spirit.
Retreat! Flee!
His spirit darted to the statue’s base, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were forbidden—even to Elders. Legends spoke of the ancient masters interred within.
Only one elderly sweeper tended the grounds, his identity and strength a mystery.
Except to Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, at life’s end, Su Hanjing’s spirit drifted to the old man’s feet.
“Master.”
“So it has come to this?” The old man’s voice was bleak. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no sorrow. “This unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face and plain gray robes a stark contrast to the Elders’ finery. Yet the glint in his eyes rivaled any Steward’s.
“Master, the Council’s centuries of legacy are ruined. Tonight ends in mutual destruction. I beg you—intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards are trapped in the imperial city, likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are overwhelmed. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow picks them off one by one. If we don’t act now, all will perish.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze. “Master… my spirit scatters… beyond saving… the only way now is…”
With his last breath spent, his shadow dissolved into the wind.
Su Hanjing, obscure for forty years, would be remembered for this night.
But the Elder Council’s fall was inevitable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each striking an Elder crucial to their resistance.
The Flaming Bow was their bane. Normally, the Elders might have closed in to fight, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm vanguard and Yang Hao’s ranged onslaught, they retreated step by step.
The old sweeper watched Su Hanjing’s spirit vanish, then sighed and dropped his broom.
His duty, passed down from the Supreme One, was finally ending.
Placing a hand on a unique golden pagoda—seven tiers tall, each adorned with seven golden bells—he channeled his energy into it.
The pagoda trembled, its bells ringing with a sound so piercing it could bleed ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells reached their peak, he had crumbled to dust.
Simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered, revealing gray-robed figures seated within.
The sight stunned both Yang Hao’s forces and the retreating Elders.
The three hundred Elders, now at the statue’s base, watched in awe as the gray-robed ancients emerged.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great One!”
The gray-robed figures opened their eyes and stepped forth, their gazes solemn as they surveyed Yang Hao’s army.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These were Saint Realm experts—Elders he’d never heard of.
“The legend… ‘Elders never die’… could it be true?” Hurd gripped his axe. “Those are the dead Elders. They perished long ago.”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward. Though chaos reigned among the living Elders, the newcomers formed a disciplined line, shielding their brethren.
“The Supreme One foresaw that after his ascension, enemies would rise against the Council,” the elder intoned. “Thus, he decreed the Elders’ immortality. We, blessed with endless life, sealed ourselves in the Spirit Bone Pagodas, awaiting this day.”
Yang Hao exhaled. “The Council’s centuries of power were never just what we saw.”
“Indeed,” the elder said proudly. “Now, prepare to die.”
With that, the Elders counterattacked.
The Spirit Bone Pagodas within the Elder Council were actually a forbidden zone. Even the Elders themselves could not enter freely. Legend said that all the previous Grand Masters of the Elder Council slumbered here.
The entire garden had only one elderly man who swept the grounds, cleaning the Spirit Bone Pagodas every day. This man had no name, no identity, and no one knew his strength.
Except Su Hanzheng.
In truth, Su Hanzheng had been the direct disciple of this old man, learning his blood ritual technique from him.
Now, Su Hanzheng’s life had reached its end.
His soul drifted to the old man’s feet: “Master.”
“Has it really come to this?” the old man said sorrowfully, “Hansheng?”
“Master…” Although Su Hanzheng was only a faint shadow,
he showed no sadness. “This unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Today’s battle, I have given my all. I have not disgraced decades of cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his face gaunt, his gray robe tattered and unadorned, unlike the Elders’ finery. Yet a flash of sharp light in his eyes rivaled any Steward or Elder.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of foundation has been destroyed. Today’s battle will end in mutual destruction. Please, Master, intervene,” Su Hanzheng pleaded weakly.
The old man closed his eyes: “Has it truly come to the final step?”
In the vast expanse of the universe, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the galaxy was engulfed in the blinding light of self-annihilation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was enough to evoke profound sorrow and lament.
Amid the settling dust of the fallen Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason was simple: the revered statue of the Supreme One, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the Supreme One’s likeness before his ascension, was a sight reserved only for the imperial family and the highest nobility during the annual High Priest ceremonies. Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form stood unveiled.
Carved into the face of a mountain, the statue was a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship. The Supreme One’s visage was lifelike, especially his eyes—gazing forward with benevolence and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated an aura of divinity, as if touched by the gods themselves. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single hair stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“It took the lives of ten thousand artisans to carve this statue,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. These Elders, stubborn in their ways, refused to employ magic. Instead, they compelled the Emperor to summon artisans from across the cosmos—tens of thousands of them—to carve it using only the most primitive tools. Not even the simplest laser chisels were permitted. They chiseled this statue from the mountainside with sheer will.” Hurd’s gaze turned cold. “Look at his eyes—so full of mercy. Yet that mercy was bought with the blood and lives of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his heart heavy. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called “one true god” had never acted for the sake of others.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order—seemingly granting sentient beings a chance for free development. Yet behind it all lay a secret known only to him, a secret that served his own interests.
For himself, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though rage simmered within Yang Hao, this chapter was coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, never to return, and the Elder Council—his symbol of authority—had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with patterns of profound meaning. These spires had been hidden behind the Elder Council’s palaces, invisible to outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by appointed keepers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a century or two was commonplace.
“A limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was always evasive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. His attention returned to the pagodas, standing solemnly in the dust. The cemetery was eerily quiet, tended only by a lone elderly sweeper—proof that even the Elders rarely visited.
Yet something about the pagodas unsettled Yang Hao. They seemed ominous, as if harboring unforeseen dangers.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with vengeance.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s edifices, the Elders themselves remained unharmed, their powers undiminished.
Empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, they now sought to avenge their humiliation. Without hesitation, they charged toward Yang Hao and his forces, ready to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force none would dare provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, determined to drag the Dan Ding Sect down with them.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Bathed in the crimson glow of the blood sacrifice, the Elders carved through their enemies like a meat grinder, their killing intent overwhelming.
Though the Dan Ding Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being cut down in droves.
Hurd, gripping his great axe, joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered under the assault. Hurd, a Saint Realm powerhouse, struck with devastating force wherever he appeared, thinning their ranks.
But the Elders’ greatest weakness was their numbers. The Dragon Guard and Dan Ding Sect had reserves to replace fallen comrades, while the Elders had only three hundred. Each loss weakened their suppression of the enemy, forcing them into a defensive stance with no hope of counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarms had blared for too long—such a commotion would be heard not just in the imperial city, but across the entire planet.
If the Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Stewards, they would have returned by now.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Stewards arrived, retreat would be the only option.
“Quickly! We must act quickly!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned himself out in the blood sacrifice, his brightest and most glorious moment unfolding tonight.
When Yang Hao lifted the bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, a weapon famed across the empire.
The Flaming Bow—foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, one that had even wounded the Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body a withered husk.
As the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, Su Hanjing didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet at the same moment, a wisp of gray-white shadow escaped his burning form, darting toward the Supreme One’s statue.
Su Hanjing had abandoned his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his last breath into a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Flee swiftly!
His will raced to the statue’s base, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders seldom entered. Legend held that they housed the slumbering souls of every Elder since the Council’s founding.
Only one old man tended the garden, sweeping and washing the pagodas daily. Nameless and unknown, his strength remained a mystery.
Except to Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, at life’s end, Su Hanjing’s will drifted to the old man’s feet.
“Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a mere fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face weathered, his gray robe plain compared to the Elders’ finery. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards vanished after entering the imperial city—likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are besieged by the Dan Ding Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that technique now, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his gaze, staring at the old man. “Master, my spirit is scattered… beyond saving… The only way now… is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath dissipated. His shadow faded into the wind, his sorrowful eyes fixed on his master until the end.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for his stand tonight.
But the Elder Council’s fall was now unstoppable.
After slaying Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s heart—the most capable leaders remaining.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elder Council retreated step by step.
The old man in the pagoda garden watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of will vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he cast aside his broom.
He had swept here since the first Elder entered the pagodas, his duty passed down from the Supreme One himself. From a proud young recruit to a withered elder, his task was finally ending.
His hand rested on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, setting it trembling. The bells swayed, their chimes piercing and mournful, loud enough to draw blood from the ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells’ vibrations peaked, he had crumbled to dust.
Yet simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
Within them sat gray-robed elders, their eyes opening one by one.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao and his allies but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures emerged, cries erupted among them.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Sage!”
The gray-robed elders stepped forward, their gazes solemn as they surveyed Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts, Elders of a kind Yang Hao had never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd growled, hefting his axe. “Those are the Elders who died long ago. They’ve been dead for centuries!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the ranks. Though chaos reigned among the Elders, the newly emerged three hundred moved with calm precision, forming a defensive line against the Dan Ding Sect.
“The Supreme One, in his infinite wisdom, foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council,” the elder intoned. “Thus, he decreed that the Elders would never truly perish. We, honored by his grace, sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Only in the face of true peril would we awaken.”
Yang Hao exhaled. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just what we saw on the surface.”
“Indeed,” the elder said proudly. “And now, you shall perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Su Hanzheng looked up, gazing at the old man: “Master, my soul is already scattered… beyond salvation… our only hope…”
With those final words, Su Hanzheng’s last breath faded. With sorrow in his heart, his gray shadow gradually dissipated.
Su Hanzheng had been unknown for forty years, but tonight’s actions would etch his name into history.
Yet the destruction of the Elder Council could no longer be stopped.
After Yang Hao killed Su Hanzheng, he fired nine more arrows. Each Arrow of Wrath accurately pierced the chests of nine Elders—the most capable among them, those who had been organizing the resistance after Su Hanzheng.
Meanwhile, in the cosmos, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this self-inflicted light.
This almost signified the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders.
Though separated by infinite distances, the sight of destruction unfolding both above and below was enough to evoke profound sighs and lamentations.
Amid the dust of the collapsing Senate, people gasped in astonishment once more—for the first time in centuries, the true visage of the Supreme Statue was finally revealed.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, it was only during the annual High Priest ceremony that the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles were permitted to pay homage.
Now, bereft of the Senate’s protection, its true form stood unveiled.
Carved from what seemed like the face of a mountain, the Supreme One’s likeness was uncannily lifelike, especially his eyes, which gazed forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely a stone sculpture, it radiated divine brilliance and presence—a masterpiece beyond human craftsmanship. The Supreme’s hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single strand stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the cosmos for the Supreme. These Elders refrained from using magic and instead compelled the Emperor to summon artisans from across the galaxies. Tens of thousands toiled with the most primitive tools—not even basic laser chisels were allowed—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes—how compassionate they are. Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and toil of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his thoughts churning. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called sole deity of the world had never acted for the sake of others.
The Supreme had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed he had granted the cosmos a chance for free development, but in truth, there must have been a hidden motive—one that served his own interests.
For himself, he could sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme’s guiding principle.
Though seething with indignation, Yang Hao knew this was all coming to an end. The Supreme had vanished years ago, never to return, and now the Senate, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the base of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, built from gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings. Each spire seemed to hold profound significance.
These spires had never been part of the Senate’s palace complex but had been hidden beside the statue, shielded by the Senate’s structures, making them nearly invisible to outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within these pagodas, their remains guarded by appointed caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die too?” Yang Hao scoffed. Generally, once one reached the Saint Realm, their lifespan extended to the natural limit of their species—living a hundred or two hundred years was commonplace.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Senate has stood for centuries. The oldest Elder is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd immediately pursed his lips and fell silent. The old man was always tight-lipped about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. He studied the Spirit Bone Pagodas more closely. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, with only a lone elderly caretaker sweeping the grounds. Clearly, the Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an inexplicable unease about these pagodas, as if they harbored something ominous.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Senate collapsed, three hundred Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with fury, ready for a final stand.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Radiance Barrier and toppled the Senate’s structures, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unscathed.
Fueled by rage and humiliation over the Senate’s destruction, they charged out without hesitation, determined to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one would dare provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defensive line was torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders radiated a crimson aura, cutting through the battlefield like a meat grinder, intent on annihilating the Alchemy Sect’s forces.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered the Elders, surrounding them in the center, they couldn’t close the distance before being decimated.
Hurd gripped his battle-axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with a thunderous roar.
The Elders faltered under the pressure. Hurd, a Saint Realm powerhouse, struck with devastating force wherever he appeared, dealing fatal blows to multiple Elders.
But the Elders were outnumbered. The Dragon Guard and Alchemy Sect’s forces were endless—for every one that fell, another took their place. The Elders, however, numbered only three hundred. Each one Hurd felled weakened their suppression of the enemy. The tide turned, leaving them barely able to defend themselves, let alone counterattack.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Senate’s alarm had been blaring for some time now. The commotion was so immense that not just the imperial city, but every corner of the planet must have heard it.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t managed to delay the Nine Stewards, they would surely return soon.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards joined the fray, retreat would be the only option.
“Quick! We must act quickly!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned himself out with the blood sacrifice. His brightest and most glorious moment was tonight.
When Yang Hao raised the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew exactly what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, renowned throughout the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true deity, one that had even wounded the Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t even attempt to resist. His blood had already been drained by the sacrifice, his body withered and useless.
When the arrow of wrath streaked through the air like a fiery dragon, piercing Su Hanjing’s chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited instantly, consumed by the divine power of the Flaming Bow.
Yet at the same time, a wisp of gray-white shadow detached from his body, streaking toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, channeling his last breath into a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Retreat at once!
Su Hanjing’s spiritual will fled to the base of the Supreme Statue, into the garden of the Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The Spirit Bone Pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders were barred from entering. Legend held that they housed the remains of all the High Masters since the Senate’s founding.
The garden had only one caretaker—an old man who swept and cleaned the pagodas daily. Nameless and faceless, no one knew who he was or what power he wielded.
Except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was this old man’s direct disciple. The blood sacrifice technique had been passed down from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His spiritual will drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a faint shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Today, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his face gaunt, clad in a plain gray robe, far from the Elders’ splendor. Yet the glint in his eyes rivaled that of any Steward Elder.
“Master, the Senate’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual ruin. Please, intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was barely a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards have vanished into the imperial city—likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are locked in battle, suppressed by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his gaze, staring at the old man. “Master, my spirit is fading… beyond saving… the only way now… is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath dissipated. His shadow faded into the wind, his sorrowful gaze lingering on the old man.
Su Hanjing had lived in obscurity for forty years, but history would remember his name for his stand tonight.
Yet the Senate’s downfall was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ greatest nemesis. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Senate’s defense crumbled, forcing them into retreat.
Inside the Spirit Bone Pagodas, the old caretaker watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of spirit vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder was entombed here, his days countless. The duty bestowed by the Supreme still weighed on his shoulders. Once a brilliant young man entering the Senate, now aged beyond recognition, his task was finally ending.
The old man placed a hand on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, with seven golden bells hanging from each level.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, causing it to tremble violently. The bells swayed, emitting a heart-wrenching chime—a sound so piercing it could make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. When the bells reached their peak resonance, he crumbled into dust.
But simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
Within them sat rows of gray-robed elders.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
By now, the three hundred Elders had retreated to the Supreme Statue’s base. Witnessing the pagodas’ transformation and the emergence of the gray-robed elders, they cried out in unison:
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“High Master!”
The gray-robed elders opened their eyes and stepped forth, their expressions solemn as they regarded Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. He could tell—these were all Saint Realm experts, Elders of a kind he had never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd hefted his axe, bellowing, “Those are the dead Elders! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the ranks. Though chaos reigned among the Elders, the newly emerged three hundred moved with eerie calm, swiftly replacing their comrades and forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Senate, so he decreed the Elders’ immortality,” the gray-robed elder said. “We, unworthy as we are, were granted eternal life by the Supreme. To guard against this day, we sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Should enemies come, we would awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Senate’s centuries of foundation were never just what met the eye.”
“Indeed,” the gray-robed elder said proudly. “And now, you shall perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Inside the Spirit Bone Pagodas, the old man watched Su Hanzheng’s final soul fragment fade into the wind. He finally sighed deeply, dropping his broom.
Meanwhile, in the depths of space, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, nearly half the star system was engulfed in this self-inflicted devastation.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual annihilation of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous destruction above and below was a sight that left onlookers sighing with sorrow and regret.
Amid the dust and debris of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason? The towering statue of the Supreme One, unseen for centuries, had finally revealed itself to the world.
The most magnificent statue in the cosmos, carved in the Supreme One’s likeness before his ascension, was a sacred relic reserved for the royal family and the highest nobility during the annual High Priest ceremonies.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form stood unveiled.
Carved into the face of a mountain, the statue was a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship. The Supreme One’s visage was lifelike, especially his eyes—gazing forward with benevolence and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated an aura of divinity, as if touched by the heavens themselves. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with individual strands stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd murmured to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders forbade the use of magic, forcing Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands toiled with primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters were allowed—to carve this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze turned cold. “Look at his eyes—how benevolent they seem. Yet that benevolence was bought with the lives of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his heart heavy. To create a mere stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called one true god had never acted for the sake of others.
The Supreme One had unified the sects, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed he had granted the universe’s intelligent beings a chance for free development. But in truth, there had to be a hidden motive—a secret known only to the Supreme One himself, one that served his own interests.
For his own sake, he would sacrifice all. That was the Supreme One’s creed.
Though Yang Hao seethed with anger, it was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, never to return, and the Elder Council that embodied his authority had crumbled.
At the base of the statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with cryptic patterns. These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace; they had been hidden behind the grand halls, shielded from outsiders.
“Those are the Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, their remains are interred within, guarded by dedicated caretakers.”
“These old men can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the natural limit of their species—living a century or two was commonplace.
“A limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just propaganda.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than them.”
Hurd pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old warrior was notoriously secretive about his own strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further. He studied the pagodas again—solemn and silent amidst the dust. The cemetery was tended by a lone elderly janitor, a sign that the Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an unease about the pagodas, as if they harbored something ominous.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with rage, ready for a final stand.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the Elder Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, remained unharmed.
Humiliated by the destruction of their sanctuary, they charged without hesitation, determined to fight to the death.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, seeking mutual destruction with the Dan Ding Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Guard’s defenses were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders moved like whirlwinds of slaughter, cutting down Dan Ding disciples with terrifying efficiency. Though outnumbered, the Elders’ sheer ferocity kept their enemies at bay, leaving the battlefield strewn with corpses.
Hurd gripped his axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard with a thunderous battle cry.
The Elders faltered under the onslaught. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming—wherever he struck, Elders fell.
But the Elders were outnumbered. The Dragon Guard and Dan Ding Sect had endless reinforcements, while the Elders were dwindling. With each loss, their suppression weakened, leaving them barely able to defend themselves.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at a standstill.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarms had been blaring for some time—the commotion would have reached every corner of the planet.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t delayed the Nine Stewards, they would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Stewards arrived, retreat would be the only option.
“Hurry! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned his life away in the blood sacrifice, his brightest moment unfolding tonight.
When Yang Hao lifted the bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what the golden-red bow wreathed in flames represented—the Flaming Bow, foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, one that had even wounded the Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice; his withered body had no further use.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in divine flames.
Yet, as his flesh burned, a wisp of gray-white energy escaped, streaking toward the Supreme One’s statue.
Su Hanjing had abandoned his body to endure Yang Hao’s strike, channeling his last breath into a fleeting spirit.
Retreat! Flee!
His spirit darted to the base of the statue, into the garden of pagodas.
The Spirit Bone Pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders were barred from entering. Legends spoke of the ancient masters who slumbered within.
The garden’s sole caretaker, an unnamed old man who swept the pagodas daily, was the only one who knew its secrets.
Su Hanjing had been his disciple, the one who learned the blood sacrifice from him.
Now, at life’s end, Su Hanjing’s spirit drifted to the old man’s feet.
“Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though a mere shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt frame clad in plain gray robes, his eyes gleaming with a light no less fierce than any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are ruined. Tonight, all will perish unless you act.” Su Hanjing’s voice was faint.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards vanished after entering the imperial city—they must have been ambushed. Three hundred Elders are besieged by the Dan Ding Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that technique now, his arrows will pick us off one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his fading gaze. “Master… my spirit scatters… beyond saving… the only way now… is…”
With those final words, his last breath dissipated, his gray shadow dissolving into the wind.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for this night.
But the Elder Council’s fall was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s heart—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elder Council was forced into retreat.
The old man in the pagoda watched Su Hanjing’s spirit vanish, then sighed and cast aside his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder was interred, his duty passed down from the Supreme One himself. Once a proud young master entering the Elder Council, he was now withered with age—and his task was finally ending.
His hand rested on a unique pagoda—golden, seven-tiered, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
Power surged into the pagoda, making the entire structure tremble. The bells swayed, their piercing chimes enough to make ears bleed.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells reached their crescendo, he had crumbled to dust.
But in that moment, all three hundred pagodas shattered.
From within emerged figures clad in gray robes—ancient Elders, long thought dead.
The sight stunned both Yang Hao’s forces and the retreating Elders alike.
The three hundred surviving Elders had fallen back to the statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures stepped forth, cries erupted.
“Master!”
“Grandmaster!”
“Elder!”
The gray-robed figures opened their eyes, their solemn gazes sweeping over Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These were all Saint Realm experts—Elders he had never heard of.
“The legend… ‘Elders never die’… could it be true?” Hurd tightened his grip on his axe. “Those are the Elders who died long ago. They’ve been dead for centuries.”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward. Though chaos reigned among the living Elders, the newly risen three hundred moved with eerie calm, swiftly forming a defensive line.
“The Supreme One foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council,” the elder intoned. “Thus, he decreed that Elders would never truly perish. We, honored by his grace, sealed ourselves within the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Only in the face of true peril would we awaken.”
Yang Hao exhaled. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation… it was never just what we saw.”
“Indeed,” the elder said proudly. “And now, you shall perish.”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
The old man placed his hand on a special Spirit Bone Pagoda—it was golden, seven stories high, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, causing the entire structure to tremble. With an unsettling vibration, the golden bells began to ring, emitting a heart-wrenching sound.
The long, piercing sound was so intense it could burst eardrums.
Indeed, blood flowed from the old man’s eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. His entire body’s vitality was nearly drained by the Spirit Bone Pagoda. When the bells finally reached their loudest vibration, the old man had already turned into a pile of dry bones.
But at the same time, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas in the grove shattered together. Within these pagodas sat one elderly figure after another, clad in gray robes.
This sight startled Yang Hao’s group, and even the three hundred Elders locked in battle were astonished.
In the vast expanse of the cosmos, the self-destruction of the fleet proceeded with chilling precision. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one ship to another, and before long, the brilliance of this self-inflicted annihilation engulfed nearly half the star system.
This spectacle almost symbolized the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was enough to evoke profound sorrow and lament.
Amid the dust and debris of the fallen Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason was the unveiling of the Supreme Statue, which had remained hidden for centuries, now standing in full view before the people.
The most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, it was a masterpiece based on his actual appearance. Only during the annual High Priest ceremony were the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was finally revealed.
Carved into what seemed like the face of a mountain, the statue captured the Supreme One’s likeness with uncanny precision. His eyes, gazing forward with benevolence and serenity, were mere stone yet radiated divine light and presence—a testament to craftsmanship beyond mortal skill. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single hair stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. The Elders refrained from using spells, instead ordering Emperor Yinglie to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands labored with the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters were allowed—to chisel this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “Look at his eyes, how compassionate they seem. Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and toil of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, his thoughts churning. For the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called ‘only god in the world’ had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the Divine Race, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed he had granted the universe’s intelligent beings a chance for free development, but in truth, there had to be a hidden motive—a secret known only to him, one that served his own interests.
For his own sake, he could sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme One’s unshakable principle.
Though rage simmered in Yang Hao’s heart, all of this was coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed and never returned, and the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had now crumbled.
At the base of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, built from gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to hold profound meanings.
These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace complex but had been hidden beside the statue, shielded by the council’s grand halls, making them nearly invisible to outsiders.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within these pagodas, their remains guarded by special caretakers.”
“These old bastards can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Generally, once one reached the Saint Realm, their lifespan extended to the natural limit of their species—living a hundred or two hundred years was commonplace.
“But limits are still limits,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest Elder was over five hundred years old. They all must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd immediately pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old man was always evasive about his true strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the Spirit Bone Pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, the entire cemetery guarded only by a lone elderly sweeper. Clearly, Elders rarely visited this place.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an inexplicable unease about these pagodas, as if they harbored something ominous.
But there was no time to dwell on it. With the Elder Council’s collapse, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with rage, ready to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Brahma Light defenses and toppled the council’s structures, the Elders inside, fully empowered, remained unharmed.
Now, further strengthened by Su Hanjing’s blood sacrifice, they refused to retreat in disgrace. Without needing Su Hanjing’s command, they charged out, determined to annihilate Yang Hao and his forces.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one would dare provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the defenses of the Dragon Guard Legion were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood sacrifice, the Elders radiated a crimson glow, their killing intent overwhelming. They cut through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder, leaving devastation in their wake.
Though the Alchemy Sect outnumbered them, surrounding the three hundred Elders, they couldn’t close the distance before being decimated.
Hurd gripped his great axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Guard Legion with a thunderous battle cry.
The Elders, though formidable, found themselves strained. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming; wherever he appeared, nearby Elders faced mortal peril.
But the Elders’ weakness was their numbers. The Dragon Guard Legion and the Alchemy Sword Sect had endless reinforcements, while the Elders were limited to three hundred. Each one Hurd felled weakened their suppression of the enemy. Gradually, they could only defend, their offensive power waning.
Yet their defense still held Yang Hao’s forces at bay.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarm had been blaring for some time. The commotion was so immense that not just the imperial city, but every corner of the planet must have heard it.
If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Executors, those formidable figures would soon return.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Executors joined the fray, retreat would be the only option.
“Quick! We must act fast!” Yang Hao’s mind raced as he gripped the Flaming Fusion Bow.
Su Hanjing’s doom had arrived. The most obscure figure of the past decades, he had burned his life away in the blood sacrifice. Tonight was the zenith of his existence—his brightest, most glorious moment.
As Yang Hao raised the bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew well what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, a weapon renowned across the empire.
The Flaming Fusion Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, one that had even wounded Executor Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t even attempt to resist. His blood had already been spent in the sacrifice, his body desiccated and useless.
When the arrow of fury streaked across the sky like a flaming dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body ignited in the divine flames of the bow.
Yet at the same moment, a wisp of gray-white energy—his last vestige of vitality—separated from his body and shot toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s fatal strike, preserving his final breath as a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Flee swiftly!
Su Hanjing’s spiritual will darted to the base of the Supreme Statue, into the garden of the hundreds of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone, inaccessible even to Elders. Legends spoke of the ancient masters who had slumbered there since the council’s founding.
The garden’s sole inhabitant was an elderly sweeper, nameless and unknown, his strength a mystery to all—except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his direct disciple, having learned the blood sacrifice art from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life had reached its end.
His spiritual will drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a faint shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his face gaunt, his gray robe plain compared to the Elders’ finery. Yet the gleam in his eyes rivaled that of any Executor Elder.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of foundation are ruined. Tonight’s battle will end in mutual destruction. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was barely a whisper.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Executors have vanished in the imperial city, likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are besieged by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Fusion Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t use that final move, his arrows will pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his gaze, staring at the old man. “Master, my spirit is dispersing… beyond saving… The only way now… is…”
With those final words, Su Hanjing’s last breath dissipated. His shadow faded, his sorrowful eyes fixed on the old man until they vanished entirely.
Su Hanjing, a man of no renown for forty years, would be remembered by history for his stand tonight.
But the Elder Council’s downfall was now unstoppable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s chest—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Fusion Bow was the Elders’ greatest nemesis. Normally, they might have closed in to fight Yang Hao directly, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elder Council faltered, retreating step by step.
The old man in the Spirit Bone Pagodas watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp of spirit vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he cast aside his broom.
He had swept here since the first Elder entered the pagodas, his duty passed down from the Supreme One. From a proud young man entering the council to this withered elder, his task was finally ending.
His hand rested on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
A surge of power entered the pagoda, making it tremble. The bells swayed, their piercing chimes sharp enough to draw blood from the ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. By the time the bells’ vibrations peaked, he had crumbled to dust.
But simultaneously, all three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
Within them sat gray-robed elders, their eyes snapping open as they stepped forth with solemn dignity.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling three hundred Elders.
The Elders had retreated to the Supreme Statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. The emergence of these ancient figures drew cries of recognition.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Master!”
The gray-robed elders stepped forward, their calm gazes fixed on Yang Hao’s forces.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These elders were all Saint Realm experts, Elders of a kind he had never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, hefting his axe. “Those are the dead Elders of the past! They perished long ago!”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the Elder ranks. Though chaos reigned among them, the three hundred newly emerged elders remained composed, swiftly forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sword Sect.
“The Supreme One possessed boundless power. He foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council, so he decreed that Elders never truly die,” the gray-robed elder said. “We, deemed worthy by the Supreme One, were granted eternal life. To safeguard against this day, we sealed ourselves in the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Now that enemies have come, we awaken.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just the power we saw.”
“Correct,” the elder said proudly. “And now, you will perish!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
“Master!”
“Teacher!!”
“Grandmaster!!”
One by one, the gray-robed elders from the Spirit Bone Pagodas opened their eyes, stepping out solemnly, their gazes fixed calmly on Yang Hao and his group.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hede. The shock in Yang Hao’s heart was indescribable. He could tell these gray-robed elders were all Saint Realm experts, each an Elder of unknown identity.
“The legend of the undying Elders… could it be true?” Hede roared, his axe raised. “Those are Elders who were thought long dead.”
One gray-robed elder stepped forward from the Elders’ ranks. Though the battlefield was in chaos, the newly emerged three hundred gray-robed Elders remained remarkably calm, swiftly replacing their exhausted comrades and forming a defensive line before the Dan Ding Sword Sect.
In the vastness of space, the self-destruction of the warships proceeded methodically. Flames and shockwaves from nuclear explosions spread from one vessel to another, and before long, half the star system was engulfed in the blinding light of self-annihilation.
This spectacle almost signified the mutual destruction of the forces led by the Emperor and those commanded by the Elders. Though separated by infinite distances, the simultaneous devastation above and below was enough to evoke profound sighs and sorrow.
Amid the dust of the collapsing Elder Council, gasps of astonishment erupted once more. The reason was the unveiling of the Supreme Statue, which had remained hidden for centuries.
The most magnificent statue in the universe, carved in the likeness of the Supreme One before his ascension, it was only during the annual High Priest ceremony that the royal family and the highest-ranking nobles were permitted to pay homage.
Now, stripped of the Elder Council’s protection, its true form was finally revealed.
Carved into what seemed like a mountainside, the statue captured the Supreme One’s likeness with astonishing precision—especially his eyes, gazing forward with compassion and serenity. Though merely stone, the sculpture radiated divine brilliance and presence, a testament to craftsmanship beyond mortal skill. The Supreme One’s hair cascaded over his shoulders, each strand meticulously carved, with a single hair stretching over a hundred meters in length.
“Back then, carving this statue cost the lives of ten thousand artisans,” Hurd whispered to Yang Hao.
“They didn’t use magic? Why?”
“To symbolize the reverence of all beings in the universe for the Supreme One. These Elders refrained from magic, instead compelling the Emperor to summon artisans from across the cosmos. Tens of thousands toiled with the most primitive tools—not even basic laser cutters were allowed—to chisel this statue from the mountainside.” Hurd’s gaze was cold. “See the compassion in his eyes? Yet that compassion was bought with the lives and toil of our greatest artists.”
Yang Hao stared at the statue, realizing that for the sake of a stone effigy, countless lives had been sacrificed. This so-called “only god in the world” had never acted for anyone but himself.
The Supreme One had unified the sects of the Immortal Order, imprisoned the divine races, and reshaped the cosmic order. On the surface, it seemed he had granted the universe’s intelligent beings a chance for free development, but in truth, there was always a hidden motive—one known only to him, serving his own interests.
For himself, he could sacrifice everyone. That was the Supreme One’s guiding principle.
Though seething with indignation, Yang Hao knew this was all coming to an end. The Supreme One had long departed, never to return, and the Elder Council, the symbol of his authority, had crumbled.
At the base of the Supreme Statue, rows of gray spires emerged, each over three meters tall, intricately carved with patterns of profound meaning. These spires had never been part of the Elder Council’s palace but had been hidden beside the statue, shielded from view.
“Those are Spirit Bone Pagodas,” Hurd explained. “Legend says that when an Elder dies, they are entombed within, their remains guarded by appointed keepers.”
“These old men can die?” Yang Hao scoffed. Typically, reaching the Saint Realm extended one’s lifespan to the limit of their species—living a hundred or two hundred years was natural.
“But a limit is still a limit,” Hurd said. “The Elder Council has stood for centuries. The oldest among them is over five hundred years old. They must die eventually. The Supreme One’s claim that ‘Elders never die’ was just a slogan.”
“Is that so?” Yang Hao smirked. “You’re not much younger than those Elders, are you?”
Hurd immediately pressed his lips together and fell silent. The old man was always secretive about his true strength.
Yang Hao didn’t press further, instead studying the Spirit Bone Pagodas. Amid the dust, they stood solemn and silent, with only a lone elderly caretaker sweeping the grounds. Clearly, the Elders rarely visited.
For some reason, Yang Hao felt an eerie unease about these pagodas, as if they harbored something unexpected.
But there was no time to dwell on it. As the Elder Council’s structures collapsed, three hundred furious Elders surged forth, their eyes burning with rage, ready to fight to the death.
Though the fleet’s self-destruction had shattered the Great Radiance Barrier and toppled the Elder Council’s buildings, the Elders inside, now empowered by Su Hanjing’s blood ritual, remained unharmed.
Humiliated by the destruction of their sanctuary, they refused to retreat. Without Su Hanjing’s urging, they charged out, determined to fight Yang Hao’s forces to the last.
Three hundred Elders—a force no one dared provoke under normal circumstances—now fought with reckless abandon, ready to perish alongside the Alchemy Sect.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Protector Legion’s defenses were torn apart.
Empowered by the blood ritual, the Elders radiated a crimson glow, cutting through the Alchemy Sect’s ranks like a meat grinder. Though outnumbered, the Elders’ sheer ferocity kept their enemies at bay, leaving the battlefield strewn with corpses.
Hurd gripped his great axe and joined the fray, rallying the Dragon Protector Legion with thunderous roars.
The Elders faltered under the assault. Hurd’s Saint Realm peak strength was overwhelming—wherever he struck, Elders fell. But the Elders were outnumbered. For every one they felled, another took their place, while their own ranks dwindled.
Soon, they could only defend, their counterattacks growing feeble.
Yet their defense still stalled Yang Hao’s advance.
Yang Hao sighed. The Elder Council’s alarms had been blaring for so long that the entire planet must have heard. If the old Sword Saint hadn’t detained the Nine Stewards, they would have returned by now.
Yang Hao knew his forces were already stretched thin against three hundred Elders. If the Nine Stewards returned, retreat would be the only option.
“Quick! We must hurry!” Yang Hao’s thoughts raced as he raised the Flaming Bow.
Su Hanjing’s end had come. The most obscure figure of the past decades had burned himself out with the blood ritual. His brightest, most glorious moment was tonight.
As Yang Hao drew the Flaming Bow, Su Hanjing saw it.
Time seemed to freeze around him. He knew what Yang Hao held—the golden-red bow wreathed in flames, famed across the empire.
The Flaming Bow! The foremost of the Creator’s Thirty Divine Artifacts, the only weapon capable of sealing a true god, one that had even wounded the Steward Elders.
Su Hanjing didn’t resist. His blood had already been spent in the ritual, his body withered and useless.
When the arrow of wrath streaked across the sky like a fiery dragon, piercing his chest, he didn’t utter a sound. His body erupted in flames, consumed by the bow’s divine power.
Yet, as he burned, a wisp of gray-white energy escaped his body, streaking toward the Supreme Statue.
Su Hanjing had sacrificed his flesh to endure Yang Hao’s strike, transforming his last breath into a sliver of spiritual will.
Retreat! Flee!
His will darted to the base of the Supreme Statue, into the garden of Spirit Bone Pagodas.
The pagodas were a forbidden zone—even Elders were barred from entering. Legend held that they housed the remains of every Elder since the Council’s founding.
Only one old man tended the grounds, sweeping and washing the pagodas daily. No one knew his name or his strength—except Su Hanjing.
In truth, Su Hanjing was his disciple, having learned the blood ritual from him.
Now, Su Hanjing’s life was at its end.
His will drifted to the old man’s feet. “Master.”
“Has it come to this?” The old man’s voice was sorrowful. “Hanjing?”
“Master…” Though only a fading shadow, Su Hanjing showed no grief. “Your unworthy disciple can no longer serve you. Tonight, I fought with all I had, honoring decades of spiritual cultivation.”
The old man leaned on his broom, his gaunt face framed by a plain gray robe. Though unassuming, the glint in his eyes rivaled any Steward Elder’s.
“Master, the Elder Council’s centuries of legacy are destroyed. Tonight, it’s mutual destruction. I beg you to intervene.” Su Hanjing’s voice was faint.
The old man closed his eyes. “Is this truly the end?”
“The Nine Stewards are trapped in the imperial city, likely ensnared. Three hundred Elders are pinned down by the Alchemy Sect. Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow is the mightiest of divine weapons. If we don’t act now, he’ll pick off the Elders one by one.”
Su Hanjing lifted his gaze to the old man. “Master, my spirit is fading… beyond saving… the only way now is…”
With those final words, his last breath dissipated. His shadow dissolved into the wind, his sorrowful eyes fixed on the old man until the end.
Su Hanjing had lived in obscurity for forty years, but history would remember him for his stand tonight.
Yet the Elder Council’s fall was inevitable.
After killing Su Hanjing, Yang Hao loosed nine more arrows, each piercing an Elder’s heart—the most capable leaders left after Su Hanjing.
The Flaming Bow was the Elders’ bane. Normally, they might have closed in to fight, but with Hurd’s Saint Realm forces pressing from the front and Yang Hao’s ranged attacks from behind, the Elders were forced to retreat.
The old man in the Spirit Bone Pagoda watched Su Hanjing’s last wisp vanish into the wind. With a long sigh, he dropped his broom.
He had swept these grounds since the first Elder entered the pagodas, fulfilling the duty the Supreme One had left him. From a proud young man to a withered elder, his task was finally ending.
His hand rested on a unique pagoda—golden, seven stories tall, each level adorned with seven golden bells.
Power surged into the pagoda, making it tremble. The bells swayed, their piercing chimes enough to draw blood from one’s ears.
Indeed, blood trickled from the old man’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as the pagoda drained his life force. When the bells’ vibrations peaked, he crumbled into dust.
Simultaneously, the three hundred Spirit Bone Pagodas shattered.
From within emerged figures clad in gray robes—Elders long thought dead.
The sight stunned not only Yang Hao’s forces but even the battling Elders.
The three hundred Elders had retreated to the Supreme Statue’s base, witnessing the pagodas’ transformation. As the gray-robed figures stepped forth, cries erupted.
“Master!”
“Teacher!”
“Great Elder!”
The gray-robed Elders opened their eyes, stepping forward with solemn dignity, their gazes fixed on Yang Hao.
“Who are they?” Yang Hao asked Hurd, his shock palpable. These were Saint Realm experts—Elders he’d never heard of.
“Is the legend of the undying Elders true?” Hurd roared, gripping his axe. “Those are the Elders who died long ago!”
One gray-robed Elder stepped forward. Though chaos reigned among their ranks, the newly emerged Elders moved with calm precision, forming a defensive line against the Alchemy Sect.
“The Supreme One foresaw that after his departure, someone would challenge the Elder Council,” the gray-robed Elder said. “Thus, he decreed that Elders never truly die. We, honored by his grace, sealed ourselves in the Spirit Bone Pagodas, entering a state of suspended animation. Should enemies arise, we awaken to defend.”
Yang Hao sighed. “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation were never just what we saw.”
“Indeed,” the Elder said proudly. “Now, prepare to die!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
Yang Hao sighed: “The Elder Council’s centuries of foundation indeed extend far beyond what we see here.”
“Correct,” the gray-robed elder said proudly. “So, you shall all die!!”
With that, the Elders launched their counterattack.
This time, the people from Dan Ding Sword Sect truly felt the pressure.
The Senate had accumulated its strength for five hundred years, now fully displayed before them. Six hundred elders formed a grand formation, its power increasing by more than just a fold.
The nine great sword master legions of the Long You Corps were instantly crushed. When hundreds of elders charged forward, even a peak saint-level expert like Hede could not turn the tide.
The only one who hadn’t joined the battle was Yang Hao.
He merely shot an arrow of fury into the sky. When that flame pierced the heavens and burst into a brilliant, colorful glow like fireworks, the night sky over Elder Mountain finally became as bright as day.
Lights flared up from all four sides of Elder Mountain. Innumerable figures climbed the cliffs, advancing toward the Senate. Deafening shouts echoed, and countless banners waved through the air.
The scene resembled a super battlefield from the age of cold weapons. Countless warriors had surrounded Elder Mountain, so densely packed they looked like locusts, fearlessly charging up the slopes without a care for their lives.
“That’s…” the leader of the Gray Robe Elders stared in shock. Having secluded himself for over a century, he naturally had no idea who these attackers were.
But Yang Hao was more than happy to explain: “We of the Dan Ding Sword Sect and the Long You Corps are attacking from the front. From the south comes the Merchant Guild’s forty sword master legions. From the west, the Imperial Guard Corps of the Royal Family. And from the north, your old friends—the Ten Sword Streams. Tonight, the most powerful forces in the empire, all those opposing the Senate, have gathered here. In this single night, we will decide the outcome.”
Yang Hao’s voice rang like a death sentence, making the elders tremble with fear.
Earlier, even just Yang Hao’s forces had overwhelmed three hundred elders, leaving them unable to resist. But now, with new forces joining from all directions, the situation had worsened.
The Merchant Guild’s forty sword master legions were their accumulated strength over many years. Once, even a single appearance of them had driven the Gan Sword Stream into retreat. Now, forty legions charged together, throwing themselves recklessly into battle. As the saying goes, even an elephant can be devoured by ants.
The attack from the Ten Sword Streams, however, struck the elders even harder.
Who were the Ten Sword Streams? They had originally been subordinates of the Senate, treated like servants. Now, the remaining six sword sects had taken Yang Hao’s command and were attacking their former masters with full force, nearly driving the elders to madness.
The most maddening assault, though, came from the west. Though it lacked the thunderous momentum of the north and south, it advanced the fastest. Without a sound, the ten elders defending the west had already been cleanly eliminated, and the black-armored, black-cloaked Imperial Guards had already reached the elders’ rear.
This force was indeed the strongest, for leading it was none other than the supreme ruler of the Milky Way Empire—the Emperor Yinglie. The old emperor, clad in full battle armor today, wielding a massive sword, charged ahead at the front, cutting down all who crossed his path. Even if one or two slipped through, they would never escape the grasp of Feng Feng.
Today, Emperor Yinglie and Tai Feng had brought the highest martial forces within the Imperial Household—over twenty saint-level experts and tens of thousands of elite guards—to fight the Senate to the death.
At this point, the anti-Senate forces had fully revealed themselves. As Yang Hao had said, this was the final battle, a fight to the death—one side must fall.
All past grudges, all old scores, would be settled today.
At the command of Emperor Yinglie and Yang Hao, sword masters swarmed the mountain like a tide, launching deadly attacks on the elders. These sword masters treated their lives as nothing, charging recklessly toward the elders, aiming only to delay them for a second so their comrades could drive their blades home.
A relentless offensive line paved with the blood of sword masters forced the six hundred elders back to the foot of the Supreme Statue. Even the elders who had long secluded themselves could no longer hold out.
The numbers on Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie’s side were simply overwhelming. It wouldn’t even take a fight—just a single thrown sword from each soldier could kill over a hundred elders. And though the Senate had six hundred members, all saint-level experts, under the suppression of the enemy’s saint-level forces, they couldn’t even fully unleash their grand techniques.
The encirclement tightened more and more. It seemed certain the six hundred elders would perish.
But whether by the will of the Supreme One or sheer coincidence, at this critical moment, eight streaks of light shot from the Imperial Palace, arriving above the elders’ heads in an instant.
The Eight Executive Elders had returned.
Earlier, Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie had deliberately left an opening, allowing the Nine Executive Elders to storm the palace in a surprise attack. In reality, however, the Old Sword Sage had been waiting, setting up an impenetrable barrier with the intent of trapping the nine inside the palace for good.
But fate is rarely perfect. Though all nine were indeed trapped, one of them, the Ghost Elder, had still found a way to break the barrier.
In the end, the Ghost Elder and the Old Sword Sage perished together, their light and darkness merging into nothingness.
The fortunate Eight Executive Elders, realizing the dire situation at Elder Mountain, didn’t dare delay and flew back immediately.
But they could never have imagined the situation would be this bad.
Elder Mountain had been breached, the Senate’s entire structure shattered. Only the Vahn Light Staff remained, standing alone, while the entire Linggu Tower Forest had turned to ashes. More than two-tenths of the six hundred elders had already fallen, barely holding on without the strength to fight back.
Across Elder Mountain, anti-Senate forces surged everywhere. Sword masters swarmed like locusts, attacking recklessly with only one goal—kill the elders.
Looking down at the scene below, Elder Wu Yi’s heart pounded with dread.
But the eight Executives possessed wisdom far beyond ordinary men. Upon arrival, their first action was not to join the battle.
If they charged in immediately, they would play right into Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie’s hands. Once inside the encirclement, no matter how powerful one was, they would be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
Elder Wu Yi and the other Executives did only one thing—they withdrew with the remaining five hundred elders, taking the Vahn Light Staff and the treasures hidden within the Senate, retreating in one swift motion.
With the power of eight Executives, though they could collectively transport so many, they couldn’t escape far, let alone leave Elder Mountain. Thus, the remaining elders retreated to the entrance of the Dan Ding Sect’s cave dwelling atop the mountain, establishing their final defense.
Behind them lay the one thing the Senate could never afford to lose.
The Supreme One’s physical body.
This would be their final stand.
“They still managed to break free,” Emperor Yinglie said, standing beside Yang Hao. The old emperor’s long hair flowed like a lion’s mane, but sorrow lingered in his eyes.
Yang Hao knew Yinglie mourned the Old Sword Sage, his master.
“One Executive down. Not without cost,” Yang Hao consoled him. “Still, with the Eight Executives back and over five hundred elders entrenched in the cave dwelling, it won’t be easy to surround them again.”
“Full-scale assault!!” Emperor Yinglie roared with pride. “I’ve waited for this moment for years. Even if all the Executives are here, what of it? We have hundreds of thousands of sword masters at our command. Launch the attack! Full force!!”
Tai Feng nodded slightly and gave a signal forward.
The Imperial Guards surged forward, leading the charge toward the cave dwelling.
“They won’t just sit and wait,” Yang Hao said, gazing toward the cave dwelling atop the mountain and the dark clouds that had always hung over it.
That dark cloud had lingered for over a thousand years, never dissipating. It wasn’t the Supreme One’s divine power, but the accumulated strength of generations of Dan Ding Sect ancestors.
Yang Hao’s prediction was correct. The Eight Executives indeed had plans.
At the entrance of the cave dwelling, the five hundred elders, finally catching a breath, immediately began to recover their energy. Four of the Executive Elders took the front line, replacing the exhausted elders. The narrow mountain path resembled a natural fortress—only five guards or sword masters could charge at once, easily cut down by the Executives.
This time, the Dan Ding Sword Sect truly felt the pressure.
The Senate, having accumulated power for five hundred years, now fully revealed its might. The grand formation laid out by six hundred elders amplified their strength by more than double.
The nine great swordmaster legions of the Longyou Army were instantly crushed. When hundreds of elders charged forward, even a peak Saint Realm expert like He De found it impossible to turn the tide.
The only one who did not join the battle was Yang Hao.
He merely shot a single arrow of fury into the sky. As the flames pierced the heavens and blossomed into a dazzling display like fireworks, the night sky above the Elder Mountain finally brightened.
From all four sides of the Elder Mountain, countless lights flared up. Innumerable figures scaled the cliffs, advancing toward the Senate. Deafening battle cries filled the air, and countless banners fluttered in the wind.
The scene resembled a super battlefield of the cold weapon era—countless warriors had completely surrounded the Elder Mountain, swarming like locusts, charging recklessly up the slopes.
“What is this…?” The leader of the gray-robed elders was dumbfounded. Having been in seclusion for over a century, he naturally had no idea who these attackers were.
But Yang Hao was happy to enlighten him:
“The Dan Ding Sword Sect and the Longyou Army are attacking from the front. The southern assault is led by the Merchant Guild’s forty swordmaster legions. The western front is the Imperial Guard Corps of the royal family, and the northern assault comes from your old friends—the Ten Sword Sects. Today, the forces storming the Elder Mountain represent the strongest powers in the entire empire—all those who oppose the Senate. Tonight’s battle will decide everything.”
Yang Hao’s words, like a death sentence, sent chills down the elders’ spines.
Earlier, just Yang Hao’s forces alone had overwhelmed three hundred elders. But now, reinforcements were pouring in from all directions.
The Merchant Guild’s forty swordmaster legions were the accumulated strength of merchants over many years. They had only appeared once before, terrifying the Ten Sword Sects into retreat. Now, all forty legions were charging forward with reckless abandon.
As the saying goes, even an elephant cannot withstand an army of ants.
And the Ten Sword Sects’ assault struck an even heavier blow to the elders.
Who were the Ten Sword Sects? They were originally subordinates of the Senate, treated as mere servants. Yet now, the remaining six sects had obeyed Yang Hao’s command, launching a full-scale attack against their former masters—enough to drive the elders to despair.
But the most devastating assault came from the west. Though it lacked the deafening battle cries of the north and south, it was the fastest to advance. Without a sound, the ten elders defending the western flank were swiftly slain, and the black-armored Imperial Guards had already cut their way behind the elders.
This force was indeed the strongest, for it was led by none other than the supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire—Emperor Yinglie.
The old emperor, clad in full battle regalia and wielding a massive sword, charged at the forefront. Anyone who crossed his path was cut down without mercy. Even if one or two managed to slip past him, they would not escape the grasp of Tai Feng.
Emperor Yinglie and Tai Feng had brought the royal family’s most elite forces—over twenty Saint Realm experts and tens of thousands of Imperial Guards—to fight the Senate to the death.
At this point, the full might of the anti-Senate forces had been revealed. As Yang Hao had said, this battle was the final one—a fight to the death, with no room for compromise.
All grievances, all past conflicts, would be settled tonight.
At the command of Emperor Yinglie and Yang Hao, the countless swordmasters across the mountain launched a suicidal assault on the elders. These warriors cared nothing for their own lives, charging recklessly forward just to delay the elders for a single second—long enough for their comrades to drive their swords home.
The blood-soaked offensive line forced the six hundred elders back to the foot of the Supreme One’s statue. Even the long-secluded elders could no longer hold their ground.
The sheer numbers on Emperor Yinglie and Yang Hao’s side were overwhelming. Even if every fighter merely threw a single sword, they could kill hundreds of elders.
The Senate, at full strength, only had six hundred members. Though all were Saint Realm experts, under the suppression of the enemy’s own Saint Realm forces, they could barely unleash their grand techniques.
The encirclement tightened further. It seemed the six hundred elders were doomed.
But perhaps the Supreme One had intervened—just as the crisis reached its peak, eight streaks of light shot from the direction of the imperial capital, arriving above the elders in an instant.
The eight Grand Stewards of the Senate had broken free.
Earlier, Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie had deliberately left a flaw in their defenses, allowing the nine Grand Stewards to infiltrate the palace in an assassination attempt. In truth, they had left the old Sword Saint behind to set up an inescapable barrier, intending to trap the nine within the imperial city indefinitely.
But nothing in this world is perfect. Though the nine were indeed trapped, the Ghost Elder had devised a way to break the barrier.
In the end, the Ghost Elder and the old Sword Saint perished together, their opposing forces of light and darkness merging into nothingness.
The eight surviving Grand Stewards, knowing the dire situation on the Elder Mountain, rushed back without delay.
Yet even they could not have imagined just how bad things had become.
The Elder Mountain had been breached. The Senate was in ruins, with only the Radiant Staff still standing amidst the ashes of the Spirit Bone Pagoda Forest. Even the six hundred elders had suffered over twenty percent casualties, barely holding on with no means to counterattack.
The entire mountain was swarming with anti-Senate forces. Countless swordmasters fought with reckless abandon, their sole goal being the death of every elder.
Wu Yi, gazing at the scene below, was utterly shaken.
But the eight Grand Stewards possessed wisdom beyond ordinary men. Upon arriving, their first move was not to join the battle.
Had they charged in immediately, they would have played right into Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie’s hands. Once trapped in the encirclement, no matter how powerful they were, they would be drowned in a sea of bodies.
Instead, Wu Yi led the Grand Stewards in a single decisive action—they retreated, taking the surviving five hundred elders, the Radiant Staff, and the Senate’s treasured artifacts with them.
Even with the power of eight Grand Stewards, transporting so many people at once was no easy feat. They could not escape the Elder Mountain entirely, so the remaining elders fell back to the entrance of the Dan Ding Sect’s cave at the mountain’s peak, establishing their final line of defense.
Behind them lay the one thing the Senate could never afford to lose—the physical body of the Supreme One.
This would be their last stand.
“They still made it out,” Emperor Yinglie said as he approached Yang Hao. The old emperor’s hair was wild like a lion’s mane, but his eyes were filled with sorrow.
Yang Hao knew—Emperor Yinglie was mourning the old Sword Saint, his master.
“One of the Grand Stewards is missing. It’s not a total loss,” Yang Hao comforted. “But now that the eight have returned, along with five hundred elders fortifying the cave, surrounding them won’t be so easy.”
“Then we storm them!” Emperor Yinglie laughed defiantly. “I’ve waited years for this chance. So what if all the Grand Stewards are here? With tens of thousands of swordmasters at our command, we attack! Full assault!”
Tai Feng gave a slight nod and gestured forward.
The Imperial Guards charged ahead, leading the assault on the cave.
“They won’t just sit and wait for death,” Yang Hao said, gazing at the cave entrance and the perpetual dark clouds swirling above it.
Those clouds had lingered for a thousand years, never dissipating. They were not the Supreme One’s divine power, but the accumulated might of generations of Dan Ding Sect masters.
Yang Hao was not mistaken. The eight Grand Stewards had a plan.
At the cave entrance, the five hundred elders seized the brief respite to recover their strength. Four Grand Stewards took up defensive positions along the narrow mountain path, where the terrain allowed only five Imperial Guard swordmasters to advance at a time—easy prey for the Stewards.
As long as the Elder Mountain’s Thunder Barrier remained, no one dared fly directly to the summit, lest they face the wrath of the lightning—a force no ordinary man could withstand.
Wu Yi surveyed the remaining five hundred elders—exhausted, wounded, each one now irreplaceable.
But now, Wu Yi had regained his composure. As the Senate’s highest authority, his duty was to lead them through this crisis, not dwell on regrets.
“Well? Have you calculated it?” Wu Yi asked the Strategist Elder, who was still deep in thought.
The Strategist Elder sighed, pulling Wu Yi aside.
“I have.”
“What are our odds?” Wu Yi pressed. The Strategist Elder was renowned as the most precise calculator in the world—his predictions were never wrong.
Wu Yi’s original plan had been to hold their ground, wait for the elders to recover, then launch a surprise counterattack from the high ground. Killing either Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie would secure at least a non-defeat.
But repeated failures had made Wu Yi cautious. Before acting, he needed the Strategist Elder’s assessment.
The Strategist Elder’s gray beard was matted with blood, but his gaze was solemn as he met Wu Yi’s eyes.
“Master…”
Wu Yi stiffened. Though both were Grand Stewards, with Wu Yi as the chief convener, they were equals. Why would the Strategist address him as “Master”?
“What is it?” Wu Yi gripped the Strategist’s sleeve.
With a sigh, the Strategist Elder produced a jade artifact.
“Master, this is my life’s work—the Jade Seal of Condensation. Though no divine artifact, it contains a century of my cultivation. Keep it safe for me.”
“What are you doing?” Wu Yi refused to take it. “We’ve been brothers for a hundred years. Speak plainly.”
The Strategist Elder glanced toward the horizon, where the first light of dawn was breaking. What he had calculated, he could not say aloud.
He pressed the Jade Seal into Wu Yi’s robes.
“Your counterattack plan has zero chance of success. Abandon it.”
“None at all?” Wu Yi was stunned. “Strategist, could you be mistaken? The Senate’s centuries of accumulated power are here. Can we not even kill Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie?”
The Strategist shook his head firmly. “The times are against us. This is no longer our era.” He pointed to the countless banners covering the mountains. “The entire world, the entire universe, rises against us—even the Ten Sword Sects. Is this still the Senate’s domain?”
“But the Supreme One left us such power—”
“The Supreme One left the Senate to rule the world,” the Strategist said bitterly. “But who could have foreseen Yang Hao? He united all our enemies. Now, their strength far surpasses ours.”
Wu Yi’s hands trembled, but he remained silent.
“They have four peak Saint Realm experts, dozens of Saints, tens of thousands of swordmasters, and countless warriors. This is the combined might of every force outside the Senate for centuries. To slay two peak Saints amidst such an army… only the Supreme One himself could do it.”
“So there’s no way?” Wu Yi refused to give up.
The Strategist’s meaning was clear—though the elders were individually stronger, the enemy’s numbers were overwhelming. To reach Yang Hao through that sea of bodies was nearly impossible.
But what if they could evaporate that sea first?
Wu Yi’s eyes snapped open, locking onto the dark clouds above the Elder Mountain.
The Strategist Elder paled, stepping back. “You… you mean to use that?”
Wu Yi nodded grimly.
“But it has never been fully unleashed since its creation,” the Strategist said, horrified. “Even when the Supreme One stormed the Copper Furnace Mountain, the Dan Ding Sect dared not activate it.”
“Because they were mid-ritual, lacking the manpower to power the barrier,” Wu Yi said darkly. “But now, we have eight. Enough to do what they said.”
What they referred to was the Thunder Barrier, established when the Copper Furnace Mountain’s cave was first founded.
Created by the Dan Ding Sect’s founding patriarch, the barrier’s original purpose was merely to defend the mountain—striking down any who flew up without knowing the deactivation method.
But over centuries, generations of Dan Ding masters had enhanced it, infusing it with immense power.
Twelve loose immortals and four ascended immortals had reforged it entirely.
By the time the last ascended immortal reopened it, he could proudly declare:
“This Thunder Barrier is now a God-Slaying Array.”
He was not boasting.
When the Supreme One first unified the immortal sects and sought to establish the Senate here, he tested the barrier’s might with the first thirty elders.
Defying all warnings, the Supreme One—then a loose immortal—activated the barrier himself.
Elder Wu Yi surveyed the remaining elders—each looked exhausted, many bearing wounds. This was the Senate’s last strength, each life precious.
But by now, Wu Yi had regained his composure. As the Senate’s highest decision-maker, he had no time for regret—he had to lead the elders through this crisis.
“Have you calculated it yet?” Wu Yi asked the strategist elder still murmuring calculations.
After a moment’s contemplation, the strategist elder sighed and pulled Wu Yi aside.
“I’ve calculated.”
“What’s the chance of victory?” Wu Yi asked. The strategist elder was known as the most precise calculator in the world—whatever he declared was never wrong.
Wu Yi’s original plan had been to hold here until the elders recovered, then launch a surprise counterattack from above, striking down to kill Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie. That would at least ensure survival.
But after repeated defeats, Wu Yi dared not act rashly. He needed the strategist’s calculation before proceeding.
The strategist elder’s long gray beard was matted with blood, making him look disheveled, but his gaze was serious as he looked at Wu Yi: “Master…”
Wu Yi was taken aback. Though Wu Yi was the chief summoner and they were technically equals, the strategist had never called him “Master” before.
“What’s wrong?” Wu Yi tugged at the elder’s sleeve.
The strategist elder sighed, pulling out a jade stone: “Master, this is a treasure I’ve cultivated for a hundred years—the Jade Seal of Condensation. Though not a divine artifact, it contains all my cultivated power. Please keep it safe for me.”
“What is this?” Wu Yi refused to take it. “Tian Ce, we’ve known each other for a hundred years, like brothers. Just speak plainly.”
The strategist elder glanced into the distance. The darkest hour was nearly over, and a red glow had begun to appear on the horizon—the dawn was coming. But what he had calculated could not be spoken.
He shoved the Jade Seal into Wu Yi’s robes and shook his head: “Your counterattack plan has no chance of success. Don’t attempt it.”
“No chance at all?” Wu Yi was shocked. He lowered his voice: “Tian Ce, could you have miscalculated? We’ve accumulated centuries of power here. Can’t we even kill Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie?”
Tian Ce stubbornly shook his head: “The time is no longer ours. This is no longer our world.”
He patted Wu Yi’s shoulder, pointing to the endless banners across the mountain: “The entire world, the entire universe, is rebelling against us. Even the Ten Sword Streams have turned against us. Is this still the Senate’s world?”
“But the Supreme One left us with such great power. Can’t we…”
Tian Ce laughed bitterly: “The Supreme One established the Senate to rule the world.
But who could have predicted the rise of Yang Hao? He alone united all the forces against us. Their strength now far exceeds ours.”
Wu Yi’s hands trembled, but he remained silent.
“They have four peak saint-level experts, dozens of saints, ten thousand grand sword masters, and countless sword masters. What kind of force is that? It’s the combined strength of all forces outside the Senate for centuries. To kill two peak saints in such a massive army—only the Supreme One himself could accomplish that,” Tian Ce said calmly.
“Then there’s no way out?” Wu Yi pondered. As the Senate’s leader, he naturally would not give up easily.
Tian Ce’s meaning was simple: though their individual strength was superior, the enemy’s numbers were overwhelming. Even if they could not match them directly, they could wear them down through sheer numbers. To kill Yang Hao in such a massive force was nearly impossible unless they could eliminate the entire army first.
But what if they could wipe out that entire army at once?
Wu Yi’s eyes suddenly widened, his gaze shifting to the dark clouds lingering over the summit of Elder Mountain.
Tian Ce seemed to understand and took a step back in fear: “You… you want to use it?”
Wu Yi nodded grimly.
“But since its creation, it has never been used recklessly,” Tian Ce said, still shaken. “Even when the Supreme One attacked Copper Furnace Mountain, the Dan Ding Sect dared not use it.”
“That was because they were performing a ritual and lacked enough people to activate the barrier,” Wu Yi’s expression turned sinister. “Now, we have eight of us. That’s enough.”
This time, the Dan Ding Sword Sect truly felt the pressure.
The accumulated strength of the Senate over five hundred years was now fully displayed before them. The grand formation laid out by six hundred elders had increased its power by more than just a single fold.
The nine great swordmaster legions of the Longyou Army were instantly crushed. When hundreds of elders charged forward, even a peak Saint Realm expert like He De found it impossible to turn the tide.
The only one who did not join the battle was Yang Hao.
He merely shot a single arrow of fury into the sky. As the flames pierced the heavens and bloomed like dazzling fireworks, the night sky over Elder Mountain was finally illuminated.
From all four sides of Elder Mountain, countless lights flared up. Innumerable figures scaled the cliffs, advancing toward the Senate. Deafening battle cries filled the air, and countless banners fluttered in the wind.
The scene resembled a super battlefield from the age of cold weapons. Countless warriors had completely surrounded Elder Mountain, swarming like locusts, charging recklessly up the slopes without regard for their lives.
“What is this…?” The leader of the gray-robed elders was dumbstruck. Having been in seclusion for over a century, he naturally had no idea who these attackers were.
But Yang Hao was happy to enlighten him:
“Our Dan Ding Sword Sect and the Longyou Army are attacking from the front. The southern assault is led by the Merchant Guild’s forty swordmaster legions. The western front is the Imperial Guard Corps of the royal family, and the northern side—well, that’s your old friends, the Ten Sword Sects. Today, the forces storming Elder Mountain represent the strongest powers in the entire empire—all those who oppose the Senate. Tonight’s battle will decide everything.”
Yang Hao’s voice, cold as a death sentence, sent shivers down the elders’ spines.
Earlier, just Yang Hao’s forces alone had overwhelmed three hundred elders. But now, reinforcements were pouring in from all directions. The Merchant Guild’s forty swordmaster legions were the accumulated strength of merchants over many years. They had only appeared once before, and that alone had been enough to force the Ten Sword Sects into retreat. Now, all forty legions were charging forward with reckless abandon, like ants gnawing at an elephant—even the strongest could not withstand such an assault.
And the Ten Sword Sects’ attack dealt an even heavier blow to the elders.
Who were the Ten Sword Sects? They were originally subordinates of the Senate, seen as mere servants. Yet now, the remaining six sects had obeyed Yang Hao’s orders and launched a full-scale assault against their former masters, nearly driving the elders to despair.
But the most devastating attack came from the west. Though it lacked the deafening battle cries of the north and south, it was the fastest to advance. In utter silence, the ten elders defending the western flank were swiftly slaughtered, and the black-armored Imperial Guards had already cut their way to the elders’ rear.
This force was undoubtedly the strongest, for it was led by none other than the supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire—Emperor Yinglie. The old emperor, clad in full battle regalia and wielding a massive sword, charged at the forefront. Anyone who crossed his path was cut down, and even the few who slipped past him could not escape the grasp of Tai Feng.
Emperor Yinglie and Tai Feng had brought the royal family’s strongest warriors—over twenty Saint Realm experts and tens of thousands of Imperial Guards—to fight the Senate to the death.
At this point, the full might of the anti-Senate forces had been revealed. As Yang Hao had said, this battle was the final one—a fight to the death with no room for compromise.
All grudges, all past grievances, would be settled tonight.
At the command of Emperor Yinglie and Yang Hao, the countless swordmasters across the mountain launched a suicidal assault on the elders. These warriors cared nothing for their own lives, charging recklessly just to delay the elders for a single second, allowing their comrades to drive their swords home.
The blood-soaked offensive line forced the six hundred elders back to the feet of the Supreme’s statue. Even the long-secluded elders could no longer hold their ground.
The sheer numbers on Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie’s side were overwhelming. Even if every fighter merely threw a single sword, they could kill hundreds of elders. The Senate, at full strength, only had six hundred members. Though all were Saint Realm experts, under the suppression of the enemy’s own Saint Realm forces, they could barely unleash their most powerful techniques.
The encirclement tightened relentlessly. It seemed the six hundred elders were doomed.
But perhaps the Supreme had intervened from beyond—just as the crisis reached its peak, eight streaks of light shot from the direction of the imperial city, arriving above the elders in an instant.
The eight Grand Stewards of the Senate had broken free.
Earlier, Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie had deliberately left a flaw, allowing the nine Grand Stewards to infiltrate the palace in an assassination attempt. In truth, they had left behind the old Sword Saint, who had set up an inescapable barrier meant to trap the nine within the imperial city indefinitely.
But nothing in this world was perfect. Though the nine had indeed been trapped, one among them—the Ghost Elder—had found a way to break the barrier.
In the end, the Ghost Elder and the old Sword Saint perished together, their powers of light and darkness merging into nothingness.
The eight surviving Grand Stewards, knowing the dire situation on Elder Mountain, wasted no time and flew back immediately.
Yet even they could not have imagined just how bad things had become.
Elder Mountain had been breached. The Senate was on the verge of collapse, with only the Radiant Staff still standing amidst the ruins. The entire Bone Pagoda Forest had turned to ash, and even the six hundred elders had suffered over twenty percent casualties, barely holding on with no strength left to counterattack.
The entire mountain was swarming with anti-Senate forces. Countless swordmasters fought with reckless abandon, their sole purpose being to kill the elders.
Wu Yi, gazing at the scene below, was shaken to his core.
But the eight Grand Stewards possessed wisdom beyond ordinary men. Upon their arrival, their first move was not to join the battle.
Had they attacked immediately, they would have played right into Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie’s hands. Once caught in the encirclement, no matter how powerful they were, sheer numbers would overwhelm them.
Instead, Wu Yi led the Grand Stewards in a single decisive action—they retreated with the surviving five hundred elders, taking the Radiant Staff and the Senate’s treasured artifacts, and withdrew in haste.
Even with the power of eight Grand Stewards, transporting so many people at once was no easy feat. They could not escape far, nor could they leave Elder Mountain entirely. Thus, the remaining elders fell back to the entrance of the Dan Ding Sect’s cave dwelling at the mountain’s peak, establishing their final line of defense.
Behind them lay the one thing the Senate could never afford to lose—
The Supreme’s physical body.
This would be their last stand.
“They still made it out,” Emperor Yinglie said as he walked up to Yang Hao. The old emperor’s hair was wild like a lion’s mane, but his eyes carried sorrow.
Yang Hao knew—Emperor Yinglie was mourning the old Sword Saint, his master.
“One less Grand Steward isn’t nothing,” Yang Hao consoled. “But now that the eight have returned, along with five hundred elders fortifying the cave, surrounding them won’t be so easy.”
“Then we storm them!” Emperor Yinglie laughed defiantly. “I’ve waited years for this chance. Even if all the Grand Stewards were here, so what? With tens of thousands of swordmasters at our command—we attack! We attack!!”
Tai Feng gave a slight nod and gestured forward.
The Imperial Guards charged ahead, storming the cave entrance.
“They won’t just sit and wait for death,” Yang Hao said, his gaze fixed on the cave dwelling at the peak and the dark clouds that perpetually shrouded it.
Those clouds had lingered for over a thousand years, never dissipating. This was not the Supreme’s divine power, but the accumulated might of generations of Dan Ding Sect masters.
Yang Hao was not wrong. The eight Grand Stewards had already made their move.
Standing at the cave entrance, the five hundred elders seized the brief respite to recover their spiritual energy. Four Grand Stewards took over the defense of the mountain path. The narrow trail, a natural chokepoint, allowed only five Imperial Guard swordmasters to attack at a time—easy prey for the Stewards.
With the Thunder Barrier still active over Elder Mountain, no one dared fly recklessly to the summit, lest they face the wrath of divine lightning—a force no ordinary man could withstand.
Wu Yi surveyed the remaining five hundred elders—exhausted, wounded, each one invaluable. These were the Senate’s last reserves.
Yet even now, Wu Yi had regained his composure. As the Senate’s highest authority, his duty was to lead them through this crisis. There was no time for regret.
“Well? Have you calculated it?” Wu Yi asked Tian Ce, the elder beside him who was still deep in divination.
Tian Ce pondered a moment longer, then sighed and pulled Wu Yi aside.
“It’s done.”
“What are our odds?” Wu Yi asked. Tian Ce was the most precise calculator in the world—his predictions were never wrong.
Wu Yi’s original plan had been to hold their ground, wait for the elders to recover, then launch a surprise counterattack from the high ground. Killing either Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie would at least secure an unbeatable position.
But repeated failures had made Wu Yi cautious. Before acting, he needed Tian Ce to calculate their chances.
Tian Ce’s gray beard was matted with blood, his appearance wretched. Yet as he met Wu Yi’s gaze, his expression was grave.
“Master…”
Wu Yi stiffened. Though both were Grand Stewards, with Wu Yi as the chief convener, they were equals in rank. Why would Tian Ce call him “Master”?
“What is it?” Wu Yi gripped Tian Ce’s sleeve.
Tian Ce sighed and produced a jade artifact from his robes. “Master, this is my life’s work—the Jade Seal of Condensation. Though no divine artifact, it contains my century of cultivation. Keep it safe for me.”
“What are you doing?” Wu Yi refused to take it. “Tian Ce, we’ve been brothers for a hundred years. Speak plainly.”
Tian Ce glanced toward the horizon. The darkest hour was passing; the first light of dawn tinged the sky red. What he had divined could not be spoken aloud.
He pressed the Jade Seal into Wu Yi’s robes and shook his head. “Your counterattack plan has zero chance of success. Abandon it.”
“None at all?” Wu Yi was stunned. “Tian Ce, are you certain? The Senate’s centuries of accumulated power are here. Can we not even kill Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie?”
Tian Ce shook his head firmly. “The times are against us. This is no longer our era.” He gestured to the countless banners covering the mountain. “The entire world, the entire universe, rises against us—even the Ten Sword Sects. Is this still the Senate’s domain?”
“But the Supreme left us such power—how can we—?”
Tian Ce smiled bitterly. “The Supreme left the Senate to rule the world. Yet who could have foreseen Yang Hao? He alone united all who opposed us. Now, their strength far surpasses ours.”
Wu Yi’s hands trembled, but he remained silent.
“They have four peak Saint Realm experts, dozens of Saints, tens of thousands of swordmasters, and countless warriors. This is the combined might of every force outside the Senate for centuries. To kill two peak Saints amidst such an army—only the Supreme himself could achieve that.”
“Is there no way, then?” Wu Yi pondered. As the Senate’s leader, he would not surrender easily.
Tian Ce’s meaning was clear—though the elders were individually stronger, sheer numbers would overwhelm them. To reach Yang Hao through such a horde was nearly impossible.
But what if they could wipe out that horde first?
Wu Yi’s eyes snapped open, locking onto the dark clouds above Elder Mountain.
Tian Ce paled and stepped back. “You… you mean to use that?”
Wu Yi nodded grimly.
“But it has never been recklessly activated since its creation,” Tian Ce said, fear in his voice. “Even when the Supreme stormed Copper Furnace Mountain, the Dan Ding Sect dared not use it.”
“Because they were in the midst of a ritual—they lacked the manpower to activate the barrier,” Wu Yi said darkly. “But now, we have eight. Enough.”
What they spoke of was the Thunder Barrier, established when the Copper Furnace Mountain cave dwelling was first built.
Originally, this barrier was merely a defensive measure for the entire mountain—striking down any who flew up without knowing how to bypass it.
But over the centuries, generation after generation of Dan Ding Sect masters had enhanced it, pouring in vast power.
Twelve loose immortals and four ascended immortals had reforged it entirely.
By the time the last ascended immortal reopened the barrier, he could proudly declare—this Thunder Barrier had become a God-Slaying Array.
And he was not exaggerating.
When the Supreme first unified the immortal sects and sought to establish the Senate here, he had tested the barrier’s might with the first thirty elders.
Ignoring all warnings, the Supreme—a loose immortal himself—activated the barrier.
This barrier was originally established by the first ancestor of the Dan Ding Sect, originally only meant to protect the entire Copper Furnace Mountain. Just like now, anyone flying up the mountain without knowing the barrier’s activation method would be struck by lightning.
This time, the Dan Ding Sword Sect truly felt the pressure.
The Senate, having accumulated power for five hundred years, now fully displayed its might. The grand formation laid out by six hundred elders increased its power by more than just a single fold.
The nine great swordmaster legions of the Dragon Protector Army were instantly crushed. When hundreds of elders charged forward, even a peak Saint Realm expert like Hurd found it impossible to turn the tide.
The only one who did not join the battle was Yang Hao.
He merely shot a single arrow of fury into the sky. As the flames pierced the heavens and blossomed into a dazzling display like fireworks, the night sky above the Elder Mountain finally brightened.
From all four sides of the Elder Mountain, countless lights flared up. Innumerable figures scaled the cliffs, advancing toward the Senate. Deafening battle cries filled the air, and countless banners fluttered in the wind.
The scene resembled a super battlefield of the cold weapon era. Countless warriors had completely surrounded the Elder Mountain, swarming like locusts, charging up the slopes with reckless abandon.
“What is this…?” The leader of the gray-robed elders was dumbfounded. Having been in seclusion for over a century, he naturally had no idea who these attackers were.
But Yang Hao was more than happy to enlighten him: “Our Dan Ding Sword Sect and the Dragon Protector Army are attacking from the front. The southern assault is led by the Merchant Guild’s forty swordmaster legions. The western front is the Imperial Guard Corps of the royal family, and the northern side—well, that’s your old friends, the Ten Sword Sects. Today, the forces storming the Elder Mountain represent the most powerful factions in the entire empire, all united against the Senate. Tonight, we decide the final outcome.”
Yang Hao’s voice, cold as a death sentence, sent chills down the elders’ spines.
Earlier, Yang Hao’s forces alone had already overwhelmed three hundred elders. But now, reinforcements were pouring in from all directions. The Merchant Guild’s forty swordmaster legions, the accumulated strength of merchants over many years, had only appeared once before—enough to frighten off the Thousand Sword Sect. Now, all forty legions were charging forward with suicidal ferocity. As the saying goes, even an elephant cannot withstand an army of ants.
And the Ten Sword Sects’ assault struck an even heavier blow to the elders.
Who were the Ten Sword Sects? They were originally subordinates of the Senate, seen as mere servants. Yet now, the remaining six sects had obeyed Yang Hao’s orders and launched a full-scale attack against their former masters, nearly driving the elders to despair.
But the most devastating assault came from the west. Though it lacked the deafening battle cries of the north and south, it was the fastest to advance. Without a sound, the ten elders defending the western flank were swiftly slain, and the black-armored Imperial Guards had already cut their way to the elders’ rear.
This force was indeed the strongest, for it was led by none other than the supreme ruler of the Galaxy Empire—Emperor Yinglie. The old emperor, clad in full battle regalia and wielding a massive sword, charged at the forefront. Anyone who crossed his path was cut down, and even the few who escaped his blade could not evade the grasp of his loyal retainer, Feng Feng.
Emperor Yinglie and Tai Feng had brought the royal family’s most elite forces—over twenty Saint Realm experts and tens of thousands of Imperial Guards—to fight the Senate to the death.
At this point, the full might of the anti-Senate forces had been revealed. As Yang Hao had said, this battle was the final one—a fight to the death with no room for compromise.
All grudges, all past grievances, would be settled tonight.
At the command of Emperor Yinglie and Yang Hao, the countless swordmasters across the mountain launched suicidal attacks against the elders. These warriors cared nothing for their own lives, charging recklessly forward just to delay the elders for a single second, allowing their comrades to drive their swords home.
The blood-soaked offensive line forced the six hundred elders back to the foot of the Supreme One’s statue. Even the long-secluded elders could no longer hold their ground.
The sheer numbers on Emperor Yinglie and Yang Hao’s side were overwhelming. Even if every soldier simply threw a single sword, they could kill hundreds of elders. The Senate, at full strength, only had six hundred members. Though all were Saint Realm experts, under the suppression of the enemy’s own Saint Realm masters, they could barely unleash their grand techniques.
The encirclement tightened relentlessly, and it seemed the six hundred elders would soon meet their end.
But whether by divine intervention or sheer luck, at this critical moment, eight streaks of light shot out from the direction of the imperial city, arriving above the elders in an instant.
The eight Chief Elders had broken free.
Earlier, Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie had deliberately left a flaw, allowing the nine Chief Elders to infiltrate the palace in an assassination attempt. In reality, they had left the old Sword Saint behind to set up an unbreakable barrier, intending to trap the nine within the imperial city indefinitely.
But nothing in this world is perfect. Though the nine were indeed trapped, the Ghost Elder had still found a way to break the barrier.
In the end, the Ghost Elder and the old Sword Saint perished together, their powers of light and darkness merging into nothingness.
The eight surviving Chief Elders, knowing the dire situation on Elder Mountain, wasted no time and flew back immediately.
Yet they could never have imagined just how bad things had gotten.
Elder Mountain had been breached. The Senate was nearly destroyed, with only the Radiant Staff still standing amidst the ruins. The entire Bone Pagoda Forest had turned to ashes, and even the six hundred elders had suffered over twenty percent casualties, barely holding on with no chance to counterattack.
The entire mountain was swarming with anti-Senate forces. Countless swordmasters fought with reckless abandon, their sole goal being the death of every elder.
Wu Yi, gazing at the scene below, was shaken to his core.
But the eight Chief Elders possessed wisdom beyond ordinary men. Upon their arrival, their first move was not to join the battle.
Had they attacked immediately, they would have played right into Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie’s hands. Once trapped in the encirclement, no matter how powerful they were, they would be drowned under sheer numbers.
Instead, Wu Yi led the Chief Elders in a single decisive action. They retreated with the surviving five hundred elders, taking the Radiant Staff and the Senate’s treasured artifacts, fleeing in one swift motion.
Even with the combined power of the eight Chief Elders, transporting so many people at once was no easy feat. They could not escape far, let alone leave Elder Mountain entirely. Thus, the remaining elders fell back to the entrance of the Dan Ding Sect’s cave at the mountain’s peak, establishing their final line of defense.
Behind them lay the one thing the Senate could never afford to lose—the Supreme One’s physical body.
This would be their last stand.
“They still made it out,” Emperor Yinglie said as he approached Yang Hao. The old emperor’s long hair was disheveled like a lion’s mane, but his eyes were filled with sorrow.
Yang Hao knew the emperor was mourning the old Sword Saint—his master.
“One less Chief Elder isn’t nothing,” Yang Hao consoled. “But now that the eight have returned, plus five hundred elders fortifying the cave, surrounding them won’t be so easy.”
“Full assault!!” Emperor Yinglie laughed defiantly. “I’ve waited years for this moment. Even if all the Chief Elders are here, so what? With tens of thousands of swordmasters at our command, we attack! Attack!!”
Tai Feng gave a slight nod and gestured forward.
The Imperial Guard Corps charged ahead, storming the cave entrance.
“They won’t just sit and wait,” Yang Hao said, his gaze fixed on the cave at the summit and the dark clouds perpetually swirling above it.
Those clouds had lingered for over a thousand years, never dissipating. This was not the Supreme One’s divine power, but the accumulated might of generations of Dan Ding Sect masters.
Yang Hao was not mistaken. The eight Chief Elders had already made their decision.
Standing at the cave entrance, the five hundred elders seized the brief respite to recover their spiritual energy. Four Chief Elders took over the defense of the mountain path. The narrow trail and treacherous terrain allowed only five Imperial Guard swordmasters to charge at a time—easy prey for the Chief Elders.
As long as the Profound Thunder Barrier remained over Elder Mountain, no one dared fly to the summit, lest they face the barrier’s deadly lightning—a force no ordinary man could withstand.
Wu Yi surveyed the remaining five hundred elders, all exhausted and wounded. These were the Senate’s last reserves, each one invaluable.
But by now, Wu Yi had regained his composure. As the Senate’s highest authority, his duty was to lead the elders through this crisis—there was no time for regret.
“Well? Have you calculated it?” Wu Yi asked the Strategist Elder, who was still counting on his fingers.
After a moment of careful calculation, the Strategist sighed and pulled Wu Yi aside.
“It’s done.”
“What are our odds?” Wu Yi asked. The Strategist Elder was renowned as the most precise calculator in the world—his predictions were never wrong.
Wu Yi’s original plan had been to hold their ground, wait for the elders to recover, then launch a surprise counterattack from the high ground. Killing either Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie would at least secure an unbeatable position.
But repeated failures had made Wu Yi cautious. Before acting, he needed the Strategist to calculate their chances.
The Strategist Elder’s gray beard was matted with blood, sticking to his neck, but his gaze was deadly serious as he looked at Wu Yi. “Master…”
Wu Yi stiffened. Though both were Chief Elders, with Wu Yi as the chief convener, they were essentially equals. Why would the Strategist address him as “Master”?
“What is it?” Wu Yi grabbed the Strategist’s sleeve.
With another sigh, the Strategist pulled out a jade artifact. “Master, this is my life’s work—a century of cultivation. The Jade Seal of Condensation. Though not a divine artifact, it contains my lifelong power. Please keep it safe for me.”
“What are you doing?” Wu Yi refused to take it. “Strategist, we’ve been brothers for a hundred years. Speak plainly.”
The Strategist glanced into the distance. The darkest hour was passing, and a sliver of red light appeared on the horizon. What he had calculated, he could not say.
He pressed the Jade Seal into Wu Yi’s robes and shook his head. “Your counterattack plan has zero chance of success. Don’t proceed.”
“None at all?” Wu Yi was stunned. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Strategist, are you certain? The Senate’s centuries of accumulated power are here. Can we not even kill Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie?”
The Strategist shook his head firmly. “Time is no longer on our side. This world is no longer ours.” He pointed at the countless banners covering the mountain. “The entire world, the entire universe, is rising against us—even the Ten Sword Sects. Is this still the Senate’s domain?”
“But the Supreme One left us such power. Surely we—”
The Strategist gave a bitter smile. “The Supreme One left the Senate to suppress the world. But who could have foreseen Yang Hao? He alone united all our enemies. Now, their strength far surpasses ours.”
Wu Yi’s hands trembled, but he remained silent.
“They have four peak Saint Realm experts, dozens of Saints, tens of thousands of swordmasters, and countless warriors. What kind of force is this? It’s the combined might of every faction outside the Senate for centuries. To kill two peak Saints amidst such an army—only the Supreme One himself could manage it.”
“So there’s no way?” Wu Yi pondered. As the Senate’s leader, he would not give up easily.
The Strategist’s meaning was clear: though the elders were individually stronger, the enemy’s numbers were overwhelming. A sea of bodies could drown them. To reach Yang Hao through such a horde was nearly impossible.
But what if they could evaporate that sea first?
Wu Yi’s eyes snapped open, locking onto the dark clouds above Elder Mountain.
The Strategist understood instantly and recoiled in horror. “You… you mean to use that?”
Wu Yi nodded grimly.
“But since its creation, it has never been used recklessly,” the Strategist said fearfully. “Even when the Supreme One stormed the Copper Furnace Mountain, the Dan Ding Sect dared not activate it.”
“Because they were in the midst of a ritual, lacking the manpower to power the barrier,” Wu Yi said darkly. “Now, we have eight. Enough.”
What they spoke of was the Profound Thunder Barrier, established when the Copper Furnace Mountain cave was first built.
Created by the Dan Ding Sect’s founding master, the barrier was initially a simple defense for the mountain—striking down any who flew up without knowing how to bypass it.
But this was only its original purpose. Over generations, successive Dan Ding masters enhanced the barrier, infusing it with immense power.
Twelve loose immortals and four celestial immortals had all contributed to its transformation.
By the time the last celestial immortal reopened the barrier, he could proudly declare it had become the Immortal-Slaying Grand Array.
He was not exaggerating.
When the Supreme One first unified the immortal sects and sought to establish the Senate here, he brought thirty elders to test the barrier’s power.
Ignoring warnings, the Supreme One, with his immortal might, activated the barrier.
More than twelve scattered immortals and four flying immortals had completely transformed the barrier.
When the last flying immortal reopened the barrier, he proudly declared it had become a “Pillar-Slaughtering Formation.”
And he wasn’t exaggerating.
This time, the Dan Ding Sword Sect truly felt the pressure.
The Senate, having accumulated power for five hundred years, now fully displayed its might. The formation laid out by six hundred elders increased its power by more than just a single fold.
The nine great swordmaster regiments of the Longyou Legion were instantly crushed. When hundreds of elders charged forward, even a peak Saint Realm expert like He De found it impossible to turn the tide.
The only one who did not join the battle was Yang Hao.
He merely shot a single arrow of fury into the sky. As the flames pierced the heavens and bloomed like dazzling fireworks, the night sky over the Elder Mountain was finally illuminated.
From all four sides of the Elder Mountain, countless lights flared up. Innumerable figures scaled the cliffs, advancing toward the Senate. Deafening battle cries filled the air, and countless banners fluttered in the wind.
The scene resembled a super battlefield from the age of cold weapons. Countless warriors had completely surrounded the Elder Mountain, swarming like locusts, charging recklessly up the slopes without regard for their lives.
“What is this…?” The leader of the gray-robed elders was stunned. Having been in seclusion for over a century, he naturally had no idea who these attackers were.
But Yang Hao was happy to enlighten him:
“Our Dan Ding Sword Sect and the Longyou Legion are attacking from the front. The southern assault comes from the Merchant Guild’s forty swordmaster regiments. The western front is the Imperial Guard Corps of the royal family, and the northern assault is led by your old friends—the Ten Sword Sects. Today, the forces storming the Elder Mountain represent the most powerful factions in the entire empire—all those who oppose the Senate. Tonight, we decide the final outcome.”
Yang Hao’s voice, cold as a death sentence, sent shivers down the spines of the elders.
Earlier, just Yang Hao’s forces alone had already overwhelmed three hundred elders. But now, reinforcements were pouring in from all directions. The Merchant Guild’s forty swordmaster regiments were the accumulated strength of merchants over many years. Their mere appearance once had been enough to frighten off the Thousand Sword Sect. Now, all forty regiments were charging forward with reckless abandon.
As the saying goes, even an elephant cannot withstand the bite of countless ants.
And the Ten Sword Sects’ assault dealt an even heavier blow to the elders.
Who were the Ten Sword Sects? They were originally subordinates of the Senate, treated as mere servants. Yet now, the remaining six sects had obeyed Yang Hao’s command and launched a full-scale attack against their former masters—enough to drive the elders to despair.
But the most devastating assault came from the west. Though it lacked the deafening battle cries of the north and south, it was the fastest to advance. Without a sound, the ten elders defending the west were swiftly slain, and the black-armored Imperial Guards had already cut their way to the elders’ rear.
This force was indeed the strongest, for leading them was none other than the supreme ruler of the Galaxy Empire—Emperor Yinglie.
The old emperor, clad in full battle regalia and wielding a massive sword, charged at the forefront. Anyone who crossed his path was cut down, and even the few who slipped past him could not escape the grasp of his loyal general, Tai Feng.
Emperor Yinglie and Tai Feng had brought the royal family’s most elite forces—over twenty Saint Realm experts and tens of thousands of Imperial Guards—to fight the Senate to the death.
At this point, the full might of the anti-Senate forces had been revealed. As Yang Hao had said, this battle was the final one—a fight to the death with no room for compromise.
All grudges, all past grievances, would be settled tonight.
At the command of Emperor Yinglie and Yang Hao, the countless swordmasters across the mountain launched a suicidal assault on the elders. These warriors cared nothing for their own lives, charging recklessly forward just to delay the elders for a single second—long enough for their comrades to drive their swords home.
The blood-soaked advance forced the six hundred elders back to the foot of the Supreme One’s statue. Even the long-secluded elders could no longer hold their ground.
The sheer numbers on Emperor Yinglie and Yang Hao’s side were overwhelming. Even if every fighter merely threw a single sword, they could still kill hundreds of elders. The Senate, at full strength, only had six hundred members. Though all were Saint Realm experts, under the suppression of the enemy’s own Saint Realm forces, they could barely unleash their most powerful techniques.
The encirclement tightened relentlessly. It seemed the six hundred elders were doomed to perish here.
But whether by divine intervention or sheer luck, at the critical moment, eight streaks of light shot from the direction of the imperial capital, arriving above the elders in an instant.
The eight Grand Stewards of the Senate had broken free.
Earlier, Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie had deliberately left a flaw in their defenses, allowing the nine Grand Stewards to infiltrate the palace in an assassination attempt. In truth, they had left behind the old Sword Saint to set up an inescapable barrier, intending to trap the nine within the imperial city indefinitely.
But nothing in this world is perfect. Though the nine were indeed trapped, one of them—the Ghost Elder—had devised a way to break the barrier.
In the end, the Ghost Elder and the old Sword Saint perished together, their opposing forces of light and darkness merging into nothingness.
The eight surviving Grand Stewards, knowing the dire situation at the Elder Mountain, wasted no time and flew back at once.
Yet even they could not have imagined just how bad things had become.
The Elder Mountain had been breached. The Senate was on the verge of total collapse. Only the Radiant Staff remained standing amidst the ruins, and the entire Bone Pagoda Forest had been reduced to ashes. Even the six hundred elders had suffered over twenty percent casualties, barely holding on with no chance to counterattack.
The entire mountain was swarming with anti-Senate forces. Countless swordmasters fought with reckless abandon, their sole goal being to kill every elder in sight.
Wu Yi, gazing at the scene below, was struck with horror.
But the eight Grand Stewards possessed wisdom beyond ordinary men. Upon arriving, their first move was not to join the battle.
Had they attacked immediately, they would have played right into Yang Hao and Emperor Yinglie’s hands. Once trapped in the encirclement, no matter how powerful they were, they would be drowned in a sea of bodies.
Instead, Wu Yi and the Grand Stewards did only one thing—they retreated with the surviving five hundred elders, taking the Radiant Staff and the Senate’s treasured artifacts, and withdrew in haste.
Even with the power of eight Grand Stewards, transporting so many people at once was no easy feat. They could not escape the Elder Mountain entirely, so the remaining elders fell back to the entrance of the Dan Ding Sect’s cave at the mountain’s peak, forming their last line of defense.
Behind them lay the one thing the Senate could not afford to lose—the physical body of the Supreme One.
This would be their final stand.
“They still made it out,” Emperor Yinglie said as he approached Yang Hao. The old emperor’s hair was wild like a lion’s mane, but his eyes were filled with sorrow.
Yang Hao knew the emperor was mourning the old Sword Saint—his master.
“One of the Grand Stewards is missing. It’s not a total loss,” Yang Hao reassured him. “But now that the eight have returned, plus five hundred elders fortifying the cave, surrounding them won’t be so easy.”
“Then we storm them!” Emperor Yinglie laughed defiantly. “I’ve waited years for this moment. So what if the Grand Stewards are here? With tens of thousands of swordmasters at our command, we charge! Charge!!”
Tai Feng gave a slight nod and gestured forward.
The Imperial Guards led the charge toward the cave.
“They won’t just sit and wait for death,” Yang Hao said, his gaze fixed on the cave at the summit and the dark clouds that perpetually shrouded it.
Those clouds had lingered for a thousand years, never dissipating. This was not the Supreme One’s divine power, but the accumulated might of generations of Dan Ding Sect masters.
Yang Hao was not mistaken. The eight Grand Stewards had already made their decision.
At the cave entrance, the five hundred elders seized the brief respite to recover their energy. Four of the Grand Stewards took over the defense of the mountain path. The narrow trail, a natural chokepoint, allowed only five Imperial Guard swordmasters to attack at a time—easy prey for the Stewards.
As long as the Elder Mountain’s Profound Thunder Barrier remained, no one dared fly directly to the summit. The thunder’s wrath was not something ordinary men could endure.
Wu Yi surveyed the remaining five hundred elders—exhausted, most bearing wounds. These were the Senate’s last reserves, each life precious beyond measure.
But now, Wu Yi had regained his composure. As the Senate’s highest authority, his duty was to lead them through this crisis, not wallow in regret.
“Well? Have you calculated it?” Wu Yi asked the Strategist Elder, who was still deep in thought.
After a moment, the Strategist sighed and pulled Wu Yi aside.
“It’s done.”
“What are our odds?” Wu Yi asked. The Strategist Elder was the most precise calculator in the world. His predictions were never wrong.
Wu Yi’s original plan had been to hold their ground, wait for the elders to recover, then launch a surprise counterattack from the high ground. Killing either Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie would at least secure an unbeatable position.
But repeated failures had made Wu Yi cautious. Before acting, he needed the Strategist to assess their chances.
The Strategist’s gray beard was matted with blood, his appearance wretched. Yet when he met Wu Yi’s gaze, his expression was grave.
“Master…”
Wu Yi stiffened. Though both were Grand Stewards, with Wu Yi as the chief convener, they were equals in rank. Why would the Strategist address him as “Master”?
“What is it?” Wu Yi gripped the Strategist’s sleeve.
With another sigh, the Strategist produced a jade artifact from his robes. “Master, this is my life’s work—a century of cultivation. The Jade Seal of Condensation. Though no divine artifact, it contains my lifelong power. Keep it safe for me.”
“What are you doing?” Wu Yi refused to take it. “Strategist, we’ve been brothers for a hundred years. Speak plainly.”
The Strategist glanced toward the horizon. The darkest hour was passing, and a sliver of red light heralded the dawn. What he had calculated, he could not say aloud.
He pressed the Jade Seal into Wu Yi’s robes and shook his head. “Your counterattack plan has zero chance of success. Abandon it.”
“None at all?” Wu Yi was stunned. “Strategist, are you certain? The Senate’s centuries of accumulated power are here. Can we not even kill Yang Hao or Emperor Yinglie?”
The Strategist shook his head firmly. “The times are against us. This is no longer our world.” He pointed to the countless banners covering the mountain. “The entire world, the entire universe, rises against us—even the Ten Sword Sects. Is this still the Senate’s domain?”
“But the Supreme One left us such power! Surely we—”
“The Supreme One left the Senate to rule the world,” the Strategist said bitterly. “But who could have foreseen Yang Hao? He united all who opposed us. Now, their strength far surpasses ours.”
Wu Yi’s hands trembled, but he remained silent.
“They have four peak Saint Realm experts, dozens of Saints, tens of thousands of swordmasters, and countless warriors. This is the combined might of every force outside the Senate for centuries. To slay two peak Saints amidst such an army? Only the Supreme One himself could do it.”
“So there’s no way?” Wu Yi refused to give up. As the Senate’s leader, surrender was not an option.
The Strategist’s meaning was clear—though the elders were individually stronger, the enemy’s numbers were overwhelming. A sea of bodies could drown even the mightiest. To reach Yang Hao through such a horde was nearly impossible.
But what if they could evaporate that sea first?
Wu Yi’s eyes snapped open, locking onto the dark clouds above the Elder Mountain.
The Strategist paled and stepped back. “You… you would use that?”
Wu Yi nodded grimly.
“But since its creation, it has never been used recklessly,” the Strategist said, shuddering. “Even when the Supreme One stormed the Copper Furnace Mountain, the Dan Ding Sect dared not activate it.”
“Because they were mid-ritual, lacking the manpower to power the barrier,” Wu Yi said darkly. “But now, we have eight. Enough to do as they said.”
What they referred to was the Profound Thunder Barrier, established when the Copper Furnace Mountain cave was first built.
Originally, the barrier was merely a defensive measure for the entire mountain. As it stood now, anyone attempting to fly up without knowing how to bypass it would be struck by lightning.
But this was only its initial purpose. Over the centuries, generations of Dan Ding Sect masters had enhanced the barrier, infusing it with immense power.
A total of twelve loose immortals and four ascended immortals had reforged it entirely.
By the time the last ascended immortal reopened the barrier, he could proudly declare it had become the Immortal-Slaying Grand Array.
He was not exaggerating.
When the Supreme One first unified the immortal sects and sought to establish the Senate here, he brought the first thirty elders to test the barrier’s might.
Ignoring all warnings, the Supreme One—with the power of a loose immortal—activated the barrier.
Ignoring all warnings, the Supreme One, with the might of a scattered immortal, opened the barrier.
Centuries have passed, and no one knows the exact circumstances of that time, but the outcome is clear to all.
The Supreme One himself was left half-dead, while none of the thirty elders survived. It is said that among those thirty, at least five were at the peak of the Saint Realm—yet the result was the same, reduced to ashes without even a trace of their remains.
Afterward, the Supreme One confidently left both the Elder Council and his own physical body on the mountain. In his words, unless five hundred Saint Realm experts were willing to stake their lives, the Profound Thunder Barrier would be utterly unbreakable.
Clearly, Yang Hao and his allies did not have five hundred Saint Realm experts. Their combined forces amounted to only a few dozen at most. That they could push the Elder Council to such a desperate situation was entirely due to sheer numbers.
Numbers may be an advantage, but against the Profound Thunder Barrier, they become a disadvantage.
“Are you really going to use it?” Tian Ce sighed. “Once the Profound Thunder Barrier is activated, all spiritual energy on Elder Mountain will dissipate, and it will take centuries to recover.”
“The Elder Council is already gone. If we don’t use it, we won’t even be able to protect the Supreme One’s body,” Wu Yi said expressionlessly. “Do we have any other choice?”
Tian Ce fell silent for a long while. Seeing the Imperial Guards’ swordsmen charging recklessly once more—this time accompanied by Saint Realm experts and a barrage of long-range attacks—even the defending deacons were struggling to hold their ground. With no other option, the elders, who had barely rested, surged forward again to suppress the assault.
“Don’t forget,” Tian Ce warned, “once the Profound Thunder Barrier is activated, the mountain’s defenses will collapse. Anyone could fly straight to the summit, and our natural defenses will be useless.”
Elder Wu Yi nodded but remained unmoved. “After the barrier is unleashed, none of those damned rebels will survive. Who else could possibly fly up?”
His words were undeniably true—so much so that even Tian Ce found it hard to refute.
But truth does not always translate into reality. Often, it becomes the fatal flaw in the grandest of plans.
At this moment, Wu Yi had no idea.
Centuries have passed, and no one knows the exact circumstances of that time, but the outcome is clear to all.
The Supreme One himself was left half-dead, while none of the thirty elders survived. It is said that among those thirty, at least five were at the pinnacle of the Saint Realm—yet the result was the same, their bones turned to ashes, not even a corpse remaining.
Afterward, the Supreme One confidently left both the Elder Council and his own physical body on the mountain. In his words, unless five hundred Saint Realm masters were willing to stake their lives, the Profound Thunder Barrier would be utterly unbreakable.
Clearly, Yang Hao and his allies did not have five hundred Saint Realm experts—their combined forces numbered only a few dozen at most. That they could push the Elder Council to such a desperate state was solely due to sheer numbers.
Numbers are an advantage, but before the Profound Thunder Barrier, they become a disadvantage.
“Are you truly going to use it?” Tian Ce sighed. “Once the Profound Thunder Barrier is activated, all spiritual energy on Elder Mountain will dissipate, and it will take centuries to recover.”
“The Elder Council is already gone. If we don’t use it, we won’t even be able to protect the Supreme One’s body,” Wu Yi said impassively. “Do we have any other choice?”
Tian Ce fell silent for a long while. Seeing the Imperial Guards’ swordsmen charging recklessly once more—this time accompanied by Saint Realm experts and barrages of long-range attacks—even the few defenders among the stewards were struggling to hold the line. With no other option, the elders, who had barely rested, surged forward again to suppress the assault.
“Don’t forget,” Tian Ce warned, “once the Profound Thunder Barrier is activated, the mountain’s defenses will collapse. Anyone could fly straight to the summit, and our natural defenses will be useless.”
Elder Wu Yi nodded but remained unmoved. “After the barrier is unleashed, none of those damned rebels will survive. Who else could possibly fly up?”
His words were undeniably true—even Tian Ce found it hard to refute.
But undeniable truths do not always become reality. Often, they turn into the fatal flaw of an entire plan.
At this moment, Wu Yi had no idea.
Having many people is indeed an advantage, but before the Xuanlei Barrier, it becomes a disadvantage.
“Do you really intend to use it?” Tian Ce sighed. “Once the Xuanlei Barrier is activated, all the spiritual energy of Elder Mountain will dissipate completely, and it will take centuries to recover.”
Centuries have passed, and no one knows the exact circumstances of that time, but the outcome is clear to all.
The Supreme One himself was left half-dead, while none of the thirty elders survived. It is said that among those thirty, at least five were at the peak of the Saint Realm—yet the result was the same, reduced to ashes without even a trace of their remains.
Afterward, the Supreme One confidently left both the Elder Council and his own physical body on the mountain. In his words, unless five hundred Saint Realm experts were willing to stake their lives, the Profound Thunder Barrier would be utterly unbreakable.
Clearly, Yang Hao and his allies did not have five hundred Saint Realm experts. Their combined forces numbered only a few dozen at most. That they could push the Elder Council to such a desperate situation was entirely due to sheer numbers.
Numbers may be an advantage, but before the Profound Thunder Barrier, they become a disadvantage.
“Are you really going to use it?” Tian Ce sighed. “Once the Profound Thunder Barrier is activated, all the spiritual energy of Elder Mountain will dissipate, and it will take centuries to recover.”
“The Elder Council is already gone. If we don’t use it, we won’t even be able to protect the Supreme One’s body,” Wu Yi said expressionlessly. “Do we have any other choice?”
Tian Ce fell silent for a long while. Seeing the Imperial Guards’ swordsmen charging recklessly once more—this time accompanied by Saint Realm experts and barrages of long-range attacks—even the defending deacons struggled to hold the line. With no other option, the elders, who had barely rested, surged forward again to suppress the assault.
“Don’t forget,” Tian Ce warned, “once the Profound Thunder Barrier is activated, Elder Mountain’s defenses will collapse. Anyone could fly straight to the summit, and our natural defenses will be useless.”
Elder Wu Yi nodded but remained unmoved. “After the barrier is activated, those damned rebels will all perish. Who else could possibly fly up?”
His words were undeniably true—even Tian Ce found it hard to refute.
But undeniable truths do not always become reality. Often, they turn into the fatal flaw of an entire plan.
At this moment, Wu Yi had no idea.
Tian Ce fell silent, his silence stretching long. As he watched the Imperial Guards’ swordsmen charging forward recklessly once again, this time joined by Saint Domain experts and bombarded by a barrage of long-range attacks, even the defensive stewards were struggling to hold the line. With no other option, the elders, who had just rested briefly, rushed forward in a swarm and once again suppressed the assault.
“Don’t forget, once the Xuanlei Barrier is activated, the entire defense of Elder Mountain will collapse. Anyone will be able to fly straight to the summit, and we’ll lose our natural stronghold.”
Elder Wu Yi nodded but remained unconcerned. “Once the barrier is activated, all those damned traitors will perish. Who else would be able to fly up here?”
What he said was not wrong; even Tian Ce found it hard to refute.
Yet, even a statement that seems correct may not reflect reality—it may instead become the fatal flaw in the entire plan.
At this moment, however, Elder Wu Yi was unaware of that.
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